Memoirs of an Uncle’s Trunk

I was gifted an old trunk that belonged to a friend of my maternal aunt when I was about 8 years old. It was rusted and had the look and feel of a story that was more than five decades old.

My aunt’s friend carried it back to India – all the way from London - when he retired from his job and decided to spend the rest of his days in the city of joy, Kolkata.

When he gifted the trunk to me, what struck me the most that it was not empty. It had almost 20 story books that belonged to him, mementos he collected while travelling across the world, old letters and cards.

Too immature to understand why he gave me all these things, I asked my father why uncle gave me the trunk with all those collections, specially the letters and cards. My father shared my curiosity with uncle and ensured that I ask him directly. On one such meeting, when we visited uncle, I asked him the question, hesitatingly.

I carry the answer uncle gave me all along with me till today, and every time I open the trunk, I remember his answer. He sat me down and told me his story. And gave me his answer.

The trunk belonged to his wife who had died of Cancer many years ago when they lived in London. She was pregnant when she died. She used to collect things during her pregnancy for the-would be child in the trunk every month, bit by bit, due to many financial constraints. Things like sweaters, socks, caps, toys etc.

After she passed away, he gifted the collections to an orphanage for new born babies but could not do away with the trunk. It bore testimony to their journey together, their dreams, their bonding.

He carried it all the way back to India, to his birthplace. As he considered me as his own child, he blessed me with the treasure. He told me that he gave all those so that one day I can write his story.

He wanted me to read and feel his experience and had the faith that I will share his life experience with my writings, some day. He felt he was too tired to write it himself. He knew his days were numbered and wanted me to carry the lineage.

My father, later, kept the books and mementoes but packed the letters and cards and returned it back to him. On his last birthday, my father and I arrived at his home and gifted it back to him. My father explained to him that only uncle had the rights to those letters and cards and he should have them forever.

Silent moments followed for moments. Uncle took them in his hands with a smile but insisted to my father that I must read those letters. My father obliged. I read all the letters and cards over the next few months.

The trunk still is with me. I call it my treasure trove. Letters, cards, journals, toys, mementoes that belonged to my late parents, lie in peace within the trunk.

Little did I realize his farsight back then. In unsaid words, he not only encouraged me to pursue writing, but also instilled in me the confidence to continue following my passion all through life. He had read things I wrote back then and believed that I would be able to do justice to writing.

Today, it has been about three decades I have been carrying the story with me. I wish uncle would have been around to read this, but I am glad I released the caged story finally and shared it with you all.

Each time I open it up, I inhale the aroma of old memories, stories, journeys, experiences, sentiments, emotions all wrapped up in one place – priceless treasure. 

With time, I realized, the conviction he had on me and my passion for writing. Each time, I remember his answer to me. He wanted me to keep writing about human journeys and experiences. A blessing in disguise, I realize that so many people fuel my passion for writing even today that will keep me going forever.