We gave away our dining table today. It had been with us for more than a decade before finally being passed on to someone else.
I still have this vague memory of being a tiny toddler and playing in the living room while the carpenter and his assistant worked on the wood, carving the chairs and a huge, heavy table, outside. I remember running to the unfinished work and tracing my fingers on the chair’s back which had a huge X carved into it, and quickly running back inside, giggling like as if someone had cracked a joke.
Yeah, that was too much of a dramatization for a rickety old wooden dining table. And, it seriously crossed my mind whether I was being materialistic by caring about the sudden permanent absence of this heavy piece of wood. But then I realized, ten years was simply too long. And this dining table had way too many memories attached to it. This for- and- against emotions that kept churning in my mind made me feel more nostalgic. Made my mom’s ZZ plant , which had sat on that table all these days, look quite homeless.
Seriously, come to think of it, we were highly dependent on this wooden furniture. When my mom wanted to bring some cartons of boxes down from the attic, she used it’s chairs. If my dad wanted to work from home, he would spread his laptop and million other wires on its table to annoy mom. If cousins came home, the entire table would be filled with us, kids laughing and jeering, the elders trying their hardest to calm our excitement that simply had no origin. New year, meaning crackers. And my cat hates them. So where would he hide? Under the dark depths of the dining table. Coz unlike the dining tables sold today, ours was too big and dark underneath, where almost all the lost pens and stationary could be found.
I could literally go on and bore you to death. But the fact remains the same. Sometimes it’s not man who gets attached to material things. Instead, it’s the other way round.