It is a pain to shift homes. Each time the shifting happens all the boxes get moved from one home to another and find a new nook for themselves. With each new house, the number of boxes keeps increasing as well. This time though I was hell bent on discarding boxes that I had kept for years.
My life has changed since I last moved and I wanted the change to reflect in every which way possible. As I was standing on the huge ladder and trying to move one box down, the old box with damaged cardboard came crashing down to the floor.
The old tape that had held the box together so well was now damaged and everything flew out of the box. I stood there, on top of the ladder staring at the mess below and a sigh escaped my lips. I have to spend more time cleaning this now, I thought.
I calmly climbed down the ladder and walked towards the kitchen to make myself a hot cup of chai. I needed something to give me the energy to handle this. What box was this? I resisted my temptation to look at the floor outside the kitchen till I made my tea.
When I walked back with the steaming hot cup of tea in hand, the first thing that caught my eye was this Atlas I had in school opened at the middle and photos of my father’s travels scattered across the page. This was when I was still young and my father used to travel. My mother and I led a lonely life mostly because I had to go to school and that stopped the two of us from travelling with my father.
Each time my father came back, he used to show me pictures and tell me stories about each place. I had seen London, Paris, New York and much more through his eyes. Years later when I visited all those places I could relate to each one of them. It was him that sowed the seeds of travel in my heart.