Manjadikuru

Attachment is a word which deludes me. I fail to comprehend ‘attachment’, I feel detached and yet finds it difficult to ‘let go’ of these and more..

There was this talk about demolishing our apartment and going for a new one fetching us a larger area, and more facilities.. I can’t let go of my little space of comfort for larger comfort. People laughed when I said, that demolition is against nature and exploitation of resources. I am not ambitious, I was frowned at! But I ‘willed’ strongly and the idea is dropped for the time being. Here maybe, I confess, I dislike change, more so because I am lazy.

When people go through divorce, I wonder how they can let go of all that was between them.. with whom will they argue, fight with and show their worst once they are separated. Will they not keep thinking of the other one, and be inquisitive as to what he/she does? Will they not want to get back all of those  again? Here I am not speaking about certain cruelty imbibed relationships, where it is a relief to let go. I have such a story too..  that’s for later

When I was robbed off my wallet in a bus, I couldn’t let go of the it was just here a minute before feel. . Not much money was lost .. I was a student then.. But I couldn’t let go of the wallet and I saw it before my eyes for a day or two.. How can people rob others, don’t they know that it is not just the money, that is  being robbed..

That diamond ring, which my husband gifted on my birthday just before our wedding… since I treasured it, I wore it every day rather than treasuring under lock 'n keys. One morning while at a meeting, I noticed that the ring had abandoned the diamond. I didn’t care much and continued with the meeting. I was branded as 'careless' , 'not bothered' and 'having no value for money'.. all because I didn’t  grieve. I had felt no pain in losing that, because for me what mattered was the ring which touched my finger, and not a stone upon ..

My husband’s family was shifting to their hometown, was packing stuff and came with all their luggage to my place. While piling  the bags and taking stock, they realized that they have lost one bag, which contained all my gold and Amma’s too. Panic, Panic and Panic! Amma  almost fainted. (My Non-Kerala friends, if you google for a Keralite bride, you would see how much worth the loss would have been .. Down South, people are crazy about covering brides in gold, and I wasn’t an exception too). I stood as the calm one, and told Amma not to worry and that it does'nt matter as much as her health. I adjusted quickly to the fact that, all that may be lost. But I wasn’t ready to let go. I prayed to Mookambika the entire 50 minutes during which time, my husband drove back to their closed house, to check if the bag was dropped somewhere. I prayed that I get back the fruit of  my mummy’s thirty three years of  sweat; she had bought me all that from her retirement largess. I prayed that if I be given back my maternal gift, I would give from that same lot, a piece (just one piece), to Mookambika. I know She doesn’t need my bits and pieces, but I wanted to force some misery on me  as a price for the return of the wealth lost. Exact fifty minutes of silence at home was broken by the much awaited phone call… The bag was there at the gate, waiting to be carried back to me. Two years later was the hardest part of giving up.. At Mookambika, I forced myself to submit one beautiful piece, and I realized for once how difficult it is to give up anything just for faith (confused faith). I can gift to a human easily and with love. But to let go, like this was difficult. I am not scared of divine wrath. I did that to kill the materialist in me.

How difficult it would be to let go of one’s love, for marriage. Giving up a love to marry another is quite easy, at least for a woman, I think. What I mean here is, it is hard to let go, when he marries another, despite the fact that I have.

There was this one time, when I could have just moved a little and not let it go; But I stood still and it went in flames before my own eyes. When my Appappan was laid on the funeral pyre, a seventeen year old me stood just near him. I wanted to take his specs, the brown framed one, from him, from the fire. I could have, but I didn’t.. I regret that loss the most.. I have not yet let it go.. the glasses are just there when I close my eyes..

If I let go of these Manjadikuru, I would'nt be me..