My mother has been after me to look at all the books, papers, and random nicknacks we (sisters) left at her place at various times. It finally came to a head. I was in one of those particular moods when I can effortlessly give up on sentimental things of no practical use and my mother was on a war path towards a clutter free home. Although in one of our moods, we spent a bit of time lingering on some finds and reminiscing about life from my KG days to my wedding.
I was amazed to look at the 2nd grade Diwali homework book. My mother made arithmatic fun by making me create garlands of dried seed pods matching the numbers. The notebook still has the garlands. The writing exercises had cutouts from magazines beautifying the practice text. The cover was also beautified with diwali images and drawing around it.
I have heard stories of my dramatized recitions of poems. My aunts, uncles and older cousins still remember it and there is a black and white photo in one of the albums. Two of the famous ones were ‘Kilbil kilbil Pakshi Bolati’ किलबिल किलबिल पक्षी बोलती – a poem about a dream and another one ‘Asa kasa asata ho motthyancha Vaagana’ अस कस असत हो मोठ्याच वागण? – a light hearted poem complaining about hypocracy of adults. Found the later in a newspaper cutting from Nov 28, 1976 with some others my mother had saved. One of the poems has ba ba blacksheep scribbled in devanagari script. I wonder if she was deciding between the English nursery rhymes and these quirky Marathi unknown gems. I am glad she decided to go with the ‘quirky Marathi’.
Another diary had meticulously saved, attached and labelled feathers. I remember this from a school project with Gauri somewhere around 8th or 9th grade. We used to go to Sarasbaug early in the morning to collect the feathers. I forget what the project was (probably something about learning from the birds about aerodynamics) but I am amazed at the collection. 
Utterly mindboggling find was a math question paper from 1951 from a school in Belgaum. We had a fun time trying to figure out whose it might be. It was way before any of my parents or uncles would have been in school let alone my cousins. We decided my grandfather must have repurposed it to wrap a bundle or a book and somehow it got displaced as we were moving things around.
This letter from my grandfather (mother’s father) to my father after meeting Parag for the first time made me emotional. It has been years. Plenty of water under the bridge. None of my grandparents are alive anymore. Parag is now a part of the extended Deshpande family but these first words of acceptance and trust in me still makes me feel their strong supporting presence.
devayani tirthali 