Skip to main content

The girl in my wallet

Men's wallets are just as mysterious as those of women. Though smaller, they inturn have numerous pockets and pouches that are capable of safely tucking away many secrets.

Mine is a leather wallet I go for a replacement every three or maybe four years. Every time I get myself a new wallet, the transfer of contents from the old one to the new is like a spiritual ceremony. First I empty all the contents of the existing wallet into a clean and empty table. Them comes the close scrutiny part. There are coins from Riyadh that my uncle gave when I was young, so they automatically gets into the new wallet. There are unclaimed bills from past expenses and hurriedly scribbled phone numbers, and then there are small notes or at times, a couple of lines from a poem that never had a name. All these go into the 'to be discarded' section. Photos of gods find space in the new wallet. So does all the plastic cards for credit debit insurance vehicle id voting reliance Spenser etc. All these are carefully packed into the various pockets in the new wallet.

Once all is done, I know that you will still be hiding in one of the zipped pouches that are hard to reach. You always had to make it a point to come out last. I would take you out, look at you and think of how much both of us have changed in the last twenty years. You will still have the same smile and your eyes will hold the same twinkle that I fell in love with twenty years ago. You smile at me and I smile at you. For those thirty seconds or so, we make peace with time and space.

Off you go into the eleventh wallet and there you stay until this leather gets worn with time and it is time for a new hide. Every body I know has a girl in his wallet. Well...you are mine.

Comments

  1. Lovely,I hope she stays forever in your heart too :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Well, isn't she lucky. Some girls never make it to any wallet.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Interesting perspective. Send me those snaps, I actually have a BIG Wallet :)

      Delete
  3. So beautiful, and perhaps quite true :-)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hush

You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.

Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.

That Fluttering of Broken Wings

If you were to cross the road and hurt your toe, I know that I will never know. As we go on to take different roads and move on across different shores, there is something that happens to our relationships. Something that estranges, disconnects, disintegrates. I know that you still think of me. I know this because I find myself thinking about you. And thoughts rarely get seeded on their own. It comes from you to I and from I to you until one of us is alive. Old relationships rarely die. Like broken winged moths, they hang around dark alleys of forgotten memory lanes. Ever so often, I can hear one of them flutter its wings. Not too close but never too far.