The Attic

ABOUT:

An Attic is a place for storing useless things to be got rid of later in our leisure. It is much like the Recycle Bin in computer where we store unwanted files to be later deleted from the system memory. But is it only a room where we abandon stuff ? Even though we let go of things which have lost their utility in our lives, can we forget the memories associated with them ? In deeper sense the attic is actually a secluded corner in our minds we want to store our childhood .. youth .. the parts of our lives which we want to forget .. the lives we abandoned into becoming what we are today

THE POEM:

Have you ever looked back at dried leaves The ones you used to hide inside books The place to search for your lost diary Like the tears whenever you want to cry now A small room lost in the bustling of spaces A dusty smell .. cobwebs hanging like curtains Attic is the only place you can find yourself back The lumped pastels inside the stained pencil box Remember the last time your aunt paid a visit ? The old turntable .. your patience for a song Cliff Richard .. Elvis Presley .. Manna Dey The discs getting stuck at the same place The big fat radio which once ruled the house Could you've imagined a year without 'Mahalaya' ? A report card which made your father proud Your first appointment letter .. manhood His choked voice .. the first time he let you go Medical Prescriptions staled over years Doctors who cured people rather illnesses The earthen pots now home of sparrows While your little balcony is starved of sunlight Remains of comics books ruined by termites Heroes who made you fly in air once How people have been falling since then Remember that rusted cycle, that broken bat How you wished to touch the ceiling in a jiff Now you crave for the paper fans and whistles The world's wealth can't bring the Piper back Yellowed newspapers savoured with morning tea Does news make any difference to you now ? Stealing pickles kept for drying in the sun The torn kites which once sailed in blue skies That first love letter scribbled in shaky hands That first kiss which both of you dared The news of her family's sudden moving to city Like the steam engine billowing black smoke The emptiness she left in your life Your father's smoked medicine bottles The reports which diagnosed cancer Some photographs can never age with time The postcards with same words repeated You wondered how people could love so foolishly The empty bottles of shampoo, oils and perfumes You can still smell their fragrance after all these years Trivial things each with a story to tell The attic is a spectator to your growing up Just like few people who loves you for yourself But why keep such trash of years ? Don't you know memories are painful ? But can memories be wiped away ? They only get hidden like dried leaves In various pages of our lives To return whenever you open the book The attic is a secluded corner of our minds The only place we can always return back.

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