Priced Possession

"whatz  ur priced possession?" our pompous English teacher asked me in one of her hi-fi accents when I was a 6 yr old.  Within no time my mind zeroed on my kiddy bank. I have a fistful of coins but 'is it good enough?' nagged a thought. I answered her with pride jutting my chest "My mother's jewelry box."  She smiled and said in a surprisingly soothing tone "Priced possessions aren't all glittery & pricey. In fact they are priceless like the insurmountable hugs n kisses of your beloved mom". I did not quite understand what she meant but I like the way she said whatever she said.

As of now I'm  60 years young (yes! For  some queer reason I never grew old). Even today I stand my claim that my mother's jewelry box is my priced possession. Not that it boxed diamonds & sapphires, rubies & emaralds, but it treasured far more valuable memories.  you see, it hoarded my mother's concern and care, wit and humor, her  sacrifice, her pain, most important of all, her love. won't you gorgeous ladies out there like to have a peek in to my mother's jewelry box?

Cradled in the intricately carved sandal wood box are my itsy-bitsy golden bangles (custom made from my Grandmother's golden pendent when I was born)  and my mother's melodiously tinkling glass bangles which served the best BGM (back ground music) to my bed time lullabies. I still remember how shamelessly delighted I was when one of them gets accidentally broken, adding a few more pieces of glass to my handmade kaleidoscope.  It encased the multicolored bling beads I wore around my neck as a toddler. I recited my un-two-thee's and led-bue-geen's rolling those beads between my fingers. It cushioned the sliver anklets I wore while dancing to my mother's sa-pa-sa's. It nested safely those red n black holy threads with a 'sajivini carrying Bajarangbali's taveez that were tied to my arm as my mom nursed me through a terrible chicken pox.  It housed the pearl ear rings I earned from my mother as a reward to my academic brilliance.

Hidden in the heart of the box are the mangalsutr which she wore till the last day of baba's life and the diamond nose ring which she wore till the last day of her life. Talking of her mangalsutr ripples a few more memories I hold close to my heart. In one of my teen tantrums I fussed about a pimple while primping myself in the mirror. No amount of reassurance from my mother convinced me that I'm beautiful. She  said the true beauty of a woman is enhanced by three jewels. "A sindhoor bhara maang, A neck twined with the kaali moti" she said placing a plastic sindhoor box and a chain of black beads in my hands.

 "And the third?" I inquired with zeal.

"The third and the most important of all  is a SMILE" she glorified. From that day I stopped complaining and started complying.  I continued to spend  hours with my mirror but wondering how I would look with the sindhoor and mangalsutr, while a smiled played on my lips.

I never knew how time soared from my sixteen's to sixty's but what I'm sure of is that not a single day passed by without recalling her words. Had she not said those words, my tears might have flushed my happiness. Had she not said those words, my face might have been creased by more than laughter lines. Had she not said those words, I would have had nothing to share with you today. So dearies, Stop worrying and start smiling. Cos there is nothing in this world like a smile which can outshine the pearls n the diamonds. Nothing like a smile which can outshine the sunshine.