[tangiblememory]

Hey how do I send you my tangible memory? Do I need to give it in the form of answering those 4 questions or do I just send it as a write-up?

Hi! Please send me an email to [email protected] and I will write back with details of what you need to do.

[hustleinatrap]

that’s why  

[tangiblememory]

Fuck, yes.

[tangiblememory]

I haven't had an easy relationship with my father. It was fraught with fear. Even when I wasn't trying, I was afraid. Even when there was no reason to (as I am sure there were such times), I was afraid. Cowering in fear, nearly petrified each time he said my name. Living out an entire childhood under the shadow of a man who was larger than life and more terrifying than any monster under my bed.

As I read Harneet Bhatia's tangible memory, I was struck not by the objects, but by the relationship they represented. Truly, these are simply paraphernalia. The real story is of a boy that struggled into manhood under the crippling gaze of a man he could never hope to please. Every word resonated. And that is why this tangible memory is so close to my heart.

"What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" – Andrew Kaufman

  1.   Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

I love describing myself as a reluctant architect. Reluctant and nearly not thankful enough. I am also a work in progress – getting to know myself better, learning to look at myself from my own eyes and falling in love with what I see.

I will be a photographer, one day.

  2.   What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.) 

I have two. There’s a green-colored, glass paperweight from my childhood and my father’s wristwatch.

  3.   What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

The paperweight was given to me by someone I respect a lot. I was really young and was completely mesmerized by this green chunk of glass, with a rough form of a lion impressed on it. I wanted it but didn’t have the courage to ask, partly because I was too shy and partly because I was afraid of my father’s reaction. My uncle caught me playing with it, asked me if I liked it and, just like that, gave it to me.

It was so incredibly delightful and magical, that moment, for me, to be able to get something I wanted, no matter how unremarkable, without having to ask or with the fear of being scolded for wanting something. That little piece of glass – crude & flawed – represents, in a way, a piece of my childhood, a memory of something that I have not lost. There is not a lot of good that I remember from that time and I have clung on to this little memento all my life, through all my ups and downs.

The wrist watch was the one my father was wearing when he passed away. I don’t particularly like it – it’s too flashy & has an ugly black dial. I have kept it because it’s a memory by association – it reminds me of his other watch, an old HMT workhorse, big & fat, that he tried to pass on to me, when I was in school. I hated it! My friends had slim, expensive looking digital Casio pieces, the HMT embarrassed me and I refused to wear it to school, keeping it hidden in my study-desk. It wasn’t till I was in college that I began to look at it differently, started admiring it and even fell in love with the simple design.

I never told my father; I hated him too much to do that. The HMT got stolen on a college trip. My father passed away, a few years later. I hung on to his watch because it symbolizes, in many ways my relationship (and of course, time) with him. It was him and, yet, it wasn’t at all. My memory of my father is very different than anyone else’s memory of him. It’s painful and full of a lot of yearning, a lot of rejection and denial. This, then, was also a very feeble, and often failing, attempt by me to acknowledge and accept him for who he really was, as much as what I imagined he never could be.

I keep both these mementos together in a small cane box.

[tangiblememory]

The fear of rootlessness. The fear of becoming someone at the cost of losing who you once were. The fear of non-identity, of homelessness, of a forgotten name. Are these even real fears for many of us today? Probably not. The idea of a more closely-knit world has meant that we are less and less tied to our ethnic roots. But it has also meant a whole new world filled with exciting sights, sounds, and smells. Colours, faces, people, loves, lives. All new. All different from where we first came.

For Sanjay Pratyush's mother, this was a very real fear. His tangible memory- a tattoo of her name in her native language- was a way of saying, "don't worry, ma. I won't ever forget who I really am, or where I came from."

"What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" – Andrew Kaufman

  1.   Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about: "Life may be filled with delights of infinite variety but sometimes you want plain ole vanilla" ----- Anthony Bourdain.

I'm that vanilla. I’m your average middle class boy, living in south Delhi, working for a digital media agency. Love music and eating.

  2.   What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)

My tattoo. It’s my mom’s name in telugu(my mother tongue)

3.   What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

My mother is from a small town in Andhra Pradesh called Anantapur and was raised there. After her marriage she moved to Delhi, which for here was our equivalent of moving to a new country. She didn’t speak the language; she didn’t understand the culture and was in a fear that she’ll lose her identity here. After the birth of my elder sister and me she felt that her children, raised far away from her native place, will forget their roots.

So when I decided to get inked for the first time, I thought of this and got a tattoo in my mother tongue (Telugu) and because she is most special lady in my life, the one who can never be replaced, I have her name tattooed on my arm, which is a constant reminder for me, of who am I and where I’m from.

[tangiblememory]

Most memories have to do with love. And there is a different kind of love for every kind of relationship. Sometime our relationships trespass the boundaries of humankind and enter the realm of the inanimate. We fall in love with books, with things, with objects.

But is that even a relationship? Well, books offer comfort and companionship. Room to be yourself, space to explore and imagine. They provide shelter from reality, give you an entire new world and take from you your burdens, sorrows, and fatigue. I'd call that a relationship.

This is Keighley's tangible memory. A shelf full of books. Words that have been friends, lovers, and family.

"What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" – Andrew Kaufman 

1.   Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

A poet, a bibliophile, a word lover, a teacher.

  2.   What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.) My tangible memory is actually a collection of items that makes up one whole: my books.

3. What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.) I’ve always been an avid reader and have always been fascinated by the taste of words, which is why my books are a natural choice for me. I can’t remember when I started reading, only that I always have and have never stopped. 

Most of my strongest memories are associated with books like reading Jane Eyre while tucked in the corner of my primary school playground, soothing insomnia with novels or the addictive and exhilarating rush I get when discovering brilliant, new writers.

Books have always been a comfort. Whenever I’m having a tough time, I know I can slip between the pages of a book, tiptoe into another world and be someone else for as long as the pages allow me.

They are an escape when the world gets too tough to face and a luxury when I want to celebrate. They are a secret I share with the people I love and a bond to those I haven’t met yet. They are, by far, my first and last love.

[tangiblememory]

This is a difficult introduction to write. I can only imagine what it took Rajiv Ramanujam to come up with his Tangible Memory submission. It took weeks, I know that. But I am sure it took more.

I am sure it took guts to bare his soul in this candid way that makes you feel you were by his side as his life unfolded and fell apart around him. I believe it took his breath away to live that horror once, and then so many times again each time he remembered. I think it took the strength of a hundred men not to break down each time he heard the name, 'Ragini' being spoken, even in passing.

I bet it took the life out of him. In fact, I know it did. This is his very difficult, very poignant tangible memory. 

I would wish him strength, but it is clear he has that in abundance.

"What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" - Andrew Kaufman

  1.   Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

Marine Engineer by accident, sailed across the oceans. All of them. Damn near got to the antarctic too. Morphed into a Ship Manager, and of late, a domain expert  for a Maritime Software Company. Eclectic tastes in music, art, literature and with a vast collection of perfectly useless information. 

2.   What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)

Photographs of a radiantly beautiful baby - my first child, Ragini wrapped up in a sesame street blanket, now in the earth in Eastern India. She had a very rare liver disorder, and we couldn’t save her.

3.   What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

April 17th,1994. I was off the coast of Mauritania. The Radio Officer calls me at 3.30 am. "Second?" (I was the 2nd engineer) "You had better come up to the Radio Room".

I knew what it was. The Captain said. "you'd better call home". I said "please tell me what it is". Without a word, he showed me the telex: "regret to inform you that your daughter passed away. Please accept our sincere condolences and will make arrangements to relieve you ASAP".

Called home. My brother, shaken, broken told me" Rajiv, she's gone. Ragini is gone". Three weeks later, I flew back: Amsterdam-London-Delhi-Ranchi-Bokaro. Sleepless, overdosed on caffeine and nicotine. Cold, numb, frozen inside.

The next day, we went to the grave yard, scrubland mostly, under a leaden, weeping sky. Softly,Renu told me, "the baby is wrappped up in her favourite blanket. The one with Sesame Street cartoons".

Something broke inside me.I cried like I have never done ,before or since.It kept raining. At night, Renu restless, said "baby will feel cold." I quietly held her. There are just photographs now of a radiant, beautiful child, wrapped up in a Sesame Street blanket.

[tangiblememory]

Haruki Murakami is apparently, in a long-term, long-distance, possibly-unknown to him relationship with a young Indian lady called Payal Khandelwal.

Her memory is really, in essence, her own self as portrayed by the protagonist of Sputnik Sweetheart, a girl named Sumire. "Payal is Sumire", an old friend and old flame might have said. "This book is you", and so it was. As Payal finds herself nestled in the mind of the author and her real time friend, she has come to see that her own tangible memory has well been the figment of someone else's imagination.

“What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?” – Andrew Kaufman

1. Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about: "Sumire was a hopeless romantic, set in her ways - a bit innocent, to put a nice spin on it. Start her talking, and she'd go on nonstop, but if she was with someone she didn't get along with - most people in the world, in other words - she barely opened her mouth. She smoked too much, and you could count on her to lose her ticket every time she rode the train." 2. What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING.  Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)

Haruki Murakami's book Sputnik Sweetheart.  3. What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)  A few years back, one of my closest friends and the most special love of my life had mentioned that a character (Sumire) from this book reminds him of me and how I just have to read this book. I obviously picked up a copy soon and devoured each and every page with curiosity, love and admiration. It is the closest I have come to relating to a fictional character. The above lines that I have used to give you an idea about myself are borrowed from the first page of the book where the narrator is introducing Sumire's character. I couldn't stop smiling when I read this. Sumire's struggle to write, her tryst with the search of beginnings and endings, her transformation when she falls deeply in love, her magical disappearance, and the cigarette that dangles from her lips during her last phone conversation with the narrator in the book when she doesn't know where she is - made me realise why my friend wanted me to read this book. My biggest takeaway from the book was the idea of constantly "shedding some blood" in order to write better.  So, Sputnik Sweetheart has basically been the most beautiful love letter I have got, so far and my most significant possession.  Another special thing about the book was that it was my first Murakami.

Of course, we are in a long term relationship now (Murakami and I).

[tangiblememory]

There is a certain promise the words, "once upon a time" bring with them. We believe they come embedded with a "happily ever after". Or at least that is how the story was meant to go. That is what they told us. 

Times change, things change, stories and people change. In fact, there is nothing we can truly say with conviction will last forever. While one revels in the moodiness of love, one can afford to be carried away on whims and fancies. Included in those reveries may be the casual forays into "what will we name our kids?" to "I wonder if your mother will like me". More rarely, this happens: "you better know you'd be marrying into a huge family - here, let me show you..."

This is Kripa I.'s tangible memory. A family tree doodle she didn't need after all.

"What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" – Andrew Kaufman

1. Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

I’m a hoarder and I have trouble letting go. Absolutely detest uncertainty and I NEED to know what my next step in life is going to be. Love picking spilt ends from my hair in all the free time I get and can cry at the drop of a hat.

2. What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)

A page from a chemistry note book- a flowchart explaining ex-boyfriend's family tree

3. What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

When we parted ways, I gathered all the restaurant bills, movie tickets and chocolate wrappers and the diary which we maintained together and put them in a packet and shoved into the corners of the last shelf in my cupboard, so that my eyes would not well up every time I accidentally found any of the bills lying around. But this one piece of paper, is kept at arm’s length, within reach for me and I am always aware every moment of where I have kept it.

He has a huge family (quite evident from the picture attached) and this reminds me of the pure untainted effort we both were making to fit into each other’s worlds. This was not just a flowchart or a crazy doodle during a boring chemistry class, but was a promise to integrate the silos seamlessly, to connect the differences which so oddly like jagged edges stood out between him and me. But this note was the beginning of the approximation of those edges which got smoother over time. To build a future together, two of us being a part of loving family. Dysfunctional, yes we were. But the comfort level we share even today after 2 years of parting ways, is a magical thing which no amount of time or proximity can replace. I have gotten so cozy of just knowing that we love each other for needy greedy people we are, that I no longer want to be malleable for anyone else.

Truth be told I miss you. Truth be told I’m lying.

[tangiblememory]

Once in a while I come across a memory that writes itself. It speaks so simply, so candidly, and with such unabashed affection, that any introduction only serves to deflect its irrepressible joyousness.

I am going to stop here and let Shalu tell you all about her tangible memories. There are two because she couldn't pick, and I don't blame her. Once you're done reading you'll see why. 

“What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?” – Andrew Kaufman

1.   Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

I’m a quiet person who lives for the love of all things aesthetic. I’m a conscientious veterinarian, a doting mother and a happy child-woman. I'm deeply passionately unequivocally in love with life. 

  2.   What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.

Not one object but two for good measure; my father’s Shaurya Chakra and my son’s first shoes. 

3.   What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

My father’s Shaurya Chakra: He won this gallantry award in 1998 while rescuing his men and snow- clearance dozers at Zozilla Pass, Jammu & Kashmir. Bob Dylan fanatic, football lover, compulsive walker (he once stood first at a twenty kilometre walk even though he came in last because every other walker was disqualified for wrong technique,) adoring dad; he made my world go around. He died in 1992 in a road accident when posted at Shillong, Meghalaya. I can never forget the outporing of grief and good-will that followed his demise. I touch this medal and it’s like laying a hand on his chest.

My son’s first shoes: Tiny green canvas shoes that say “Bright Bots.” Sid wore them when he was three days old. Now they hang slung around my car’s rear-view mirror and I start my work-day with a playful thwack at them.

[tangiblememory]

Losing lovers as in explicable subtraction. The sense of loss mocks at words and we are bereft of even that comfort. For nothing mitigates that sorrow. Nothing deigns to resume the seat where they once took. No word. No song. No letter.

There is nearly a guilty pleasure in remembering those that death takes from us. On one end of the spectrum, the very existence of their memory and the way we return to it seems nearly hedonistic. On the other, the mere mention of a name that sounds like theirs wracks our body with a terror we'd rather not know. And so we must forget, knowing we will fail miserably.

Bharat M's tangible memory is one that cuts deep.

“What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?” – Andrew Kaufman

1.   Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about: 

Photographer of faces, teller of stories, lover of pongal and purveyor of seedy bars. 

 2. What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.) 

This kitchen knife with which I cooked one final meal for my fiance.

3.   What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.) 

"Listen, come home for dinner. I am making your favourite pulao and raitha", I say rather loudly over the crackle of the phone line.

"Yay! Yay!". I can almost picture her jumping up and down. "By the way, the knife at home is blunt, so on your way home either get me a new knife or a one those metal sharpners." "Metal sharpner, where the hell will I get one, you doofus?" "Ok, ok. Just get a new knife." So, she got the knife. We cooked and ate a memorable meal together. The balcony was cool. The stars were bright. Bessie Smith was playing in the background. And we sipped some Merlot. One week later she died.

[tangiblememory]

I am learning now that it is perfectly possible to borrow a memory and make it as significant and meaningful as your own. Someone else's passion can well become yours if they mean enough to you. They have dreams and ideals and with it,  endeavors and determination to achieve them.

These people are as memorable as what they cultivated. When we know them at close quarters those objects take on a meaning that defies expression. All at once it is a choked up ball at the front of the throat. An unexpressed sadness mixed with a sense of pride and admiration, nostalgia mixed with regret mixed with sadness.

A collection of pens. A memory of a father. This is Deepak Ramesh's tangible memory.

"What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" – Andrew Kaufman

  1.   Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

I would like to think I am free spirited and rebellious to a certain degree. I believe, I much rather make my own mistakes than follow opinions and advises and point fingers. There are too many people doing what they don’t like in life, which is the root cause of unhappiness.

There is a price to pay to be able to follow your dreams, passion. The fact is, if you truly believe in it, any price is worth it.

  2.   What is themost significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)

The picture attached is that of a collection of pens my father possessed. From Cross to Caran D’Ache he had some of the most exquisite.

3.   What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

While this is not my own possession so to speak, these pens are very significant to me It reminds me of one thing that my father stood up for all his life, which is Live a life that makes you happy, but never hurt anyone else.

I would like to think I had a humble upbringing as my father was not really the typical TG for those premium companies, however it was his passion for collecting such beauties which kept him motivated, Despite knowing it was a luxury we couldn’t really indulge in. He had found his calling. This collection took him over 20 years to build.

It is one of the most prized possessions of my late father, who passed away 5 years ago. Looking at these pens every day, helps me stay grounded and remind myself that “One must not give up on what you are passionate about.” 

[tangiblememory]

Strangers are the most exciting people of all. That's probably because we don't know them yet. Anything unknown is to be feared, coveted, desired or misunderstood. Or so we believe, since that is how we've been brought up. That's why we don't talk to strangers in elevators, or smile at unknown men in the park, or compliment women we don't know.

Every stranger unbeckoned is an opportunity lost. Then again, to approach them would be to break the spell, and that could be far worse. Sometimes, the best things are meant to be unknown to us. 

This is Neha Thakkar's tangible memory. A foreign coin with no name, and no forwarding address.

"What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" – Andrew Kaufman

  1.   Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about: 

I am a lawyer and a professor based in Mumbai. My work involves a lot of reading and writing about laws. When I am not working, I write about me, my moods, my thoughts, everything around me and everything that matters to me. I love to meet and know people. And I love to write about them.

  2.   What is themost significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)

It is a coin given to me by a stranger.

  3.   What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

I was in Bangalore on a business trip in December, 2010. My project got delayed by a day and I had nothing to do the whole evening. It was my second trip to Bangalore after more than two decades. I went to a café next to the hotel and sat in a far corner, not at all in mood to be disturbed, for I rarely got such opportunities in an unknown land. It was a small café and it was full. One guy walked in, asked me if he could sit with me as everywhere else was full. I stared at him with a “don’t try to act smart” kind of look. He promised that he would not talk to me at all. He just wanted to sit quietly and have a cup of coffee. I nodded. 

I was too lost in my book to notice him, how he looked or what he was wearing. He got up a couple of times to get the coffee and to make the payment. He left after 20 odd minutes without saying a thank you or goodbye. But he left behind this coin.

I don’t know his name, I don’t know where he was from – I know nothing about him. But today I wish I did.

I somehow cannot keep memories of a person. I don’t have any memory of anyone I have kept as a souvenir, for such things depress me. I believe in living in the moment. But this one thing I still have with me.

Even today when I go to Bangalore, I keep a few hours free and I go and sit in that café, staring at the door. But I don’t see him enter.

[tangiblememory]

When asked about their most significant memory, people most often tend to remember the good times, the happy things, the once in a lifetimes. Not scars. But well, why not. A scar is as good a reminder as any of what there once was. In fact, a scar is perhaps the most evocative physical memory we could possess. When the scar is visible, it works even harder to reintroduce the past until we cease to respond to it. But there are also invisible scars, and those are, perhaps, far more indelible.

Recollections of the wind through her hair as she sped along fast enough to leave the night behind. And a mark of singed flesh on her calf. This is KS' tangible memory.

"What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" – Andrew Kaufman 

1.   Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

I understand myself completely, but I get lost often. I love the unknown. And once I’m attached, I’m attached. I like reading and writing. I also don’t know what to say when someone asks me to tell them something about myself.

  2.   What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)

The scar on my leg, a burn mark caused by a Pulsar 180 bike.

  3.   What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

This is not my most special memory, but it is the most tangible one I have; and the one I come across more often than I should. It happened during the last few days of college. Emotions were on a high and so were we most of the time.

One thing that made me ridiculously happy during college was long, bike rides with a friend who was fun and funny. He knew his bike inside out and loved it. Also, I really liked him. We’ve had great conversations and we’ve had our weird moments as well, but those bike rides were special and I dearly miss them. On one such occasion, we mutually decided it was best if we stopped seeing each other and that we shouldn't meet anymore. As he dropped me off, the inner calf of my leg touched the silencer of his bike and my skin got burnt instantly. I went to another friend's place where I subsequently got really drunk on wine and as the night progressed, the burn got more painful, transformed into a bubble and wouldn't heal for a long time after that. But with time, the scar healed, and I met the biker friend lesser and lesser and for reasons told and untold, we stopped being good friends after that.

Today, after 2 years, it is a dark patch on my otherwise clear looking leg. Whenever I look at this scar, I get reminded of happier, carefree times in college and with this friend. I’m probably a different person now; I know I cannot go back to 2009 – 10 and that thought is painful and relieving at the same time. Just like this scar.

[tangiblememory]

Punjabi men are boors. They are alpha males only slightly more sophisticated than heathens. We have all heard the stereotypes. And then you come across one who is built like a tank, but has the heart of a purring cat. The man who etches into his mind the single defining moment of falling in love. Who keeps everything from coffee shop coasters to dinner bills to a dried flower because when lined up, they form a bridge to the heart of the one he loves. 

Sandeep Chopra is that Punjabi man, and this is his tangible memory

What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" – Andrew Kaufman

  1.   Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

I am 25 years old guy currently based in Dubai working fulltime. My Job and My Long distance girlfriend consume major party of my day and equal part of night.

  2.   What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)

A flower from the summer of 2006 (almost 6 years ago)

3.   What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.) 

I have gazillions of things as a part of my tangible memories. A note written on a Restaurant tissue paper, bills from the first date, tickets to first movie, tickets to amusement park, autographed novel. Out of all things that is most close to my heart is this flower, safe like she is in my heart.

Here is the story: It was almost a month since we first met; our third meeting. Back then I did not have a concept of time. The excitement and overwhelming desire to see her made me take to the roads of Jalandhar well before 1 pm when we were supposed to meet.

Standing some distance away, I waited for her, my eyes nailed to the door. Then she apeared and that moment became poetry. Scanning her from head to toe: her hair, her bangles, her clothes - each of them became permanently etched in my memory. She smiled and we talked. Then I presented her a CD full of my favorite songs and in that crazy moment, she grabbed a flower from the nearest bush and presented it to me. It was the first time a girl had given me anything so romantic. Until, today I keep that flower like I keep her heart. Delicately, intimately, passionately.

It's been 7 years together, and I see a marriage with her on cards next year. But it is that one moment that I relive each day and which never ceases to amaze me.

[tangiblememory]

In the endless quest for memories I come across, once in a while, someone who doesn't have the usual (and I believe, somewhat false) refrain of: "But I don't possess a single thing of significance". Many tell me this. There is nothing. All my memories are in my head. Okay, I say. What else can I say?

Then I meet Genesia Alves. Genesia is a teenaged thirtysomething who is unafraid of revealing her age (how attractive is that!). She spent weeks trying to find that one sentimental object of utmost importance, and failed. Again and again she failed. She was most dismayed because there wasn't one, there were many. And she is amusingly passionate about them all. When she sent in her submission, I understood why. Each memory is crafted as though a sculpture from her past. Each one is inimitably vivid, adoringly preserved and presented, and mildly heart-stopping. And here they are, with love.

  "What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" – Andrew Kaufman

  1. Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

I am almost 13. I have always lived in Oman. I am the eldest of 6 children.  

My parents have packed our lives, my young history, into two shipping containers and say they are taking us ‘home’ to Bombay. I don’t want to leave and go to the ‘jungle’. I panic. I freak out. I consider running away. Instead, I pull at the packers’ tape in my hand, seal in some stones and earth from where I stand and put this precious piece of MY home in my pocket. 

Now I am 38 on the outside. I have three children. I can deal with being anywhere but I am restless all the time. I pick up pebbles wherever I travel.

I come from a long family of hoarders, keepers of the precious everyday stuff. We hold on to these things because we know we will lose what they stand for: people, places, moments. It helps to have something physical to grasp tightly.

   2. What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)

I’ve sent you a collage of some of my most significant tangible memories. 

  3. What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

Bunda Bear: My parents (26 & 28) at the time say I was about 6 months old when I saw him in a shop and refused to let him go. He was very expensive, a big percentage of my dad’s salary, but... they both will shrug and smile. It is the same indulgence (not often material though) they have shown all of us, in good times and bad. He didn’t ever have a name though. That would happen years later, when my first daughter was 2 and a half and we went to Scotland for a year. Uprooted, he became her comfort and friend. She named him Bunda.

He is 37 and a half and has only one eye but he’s doing alright. He’s wearing a T-shirt that is 11 years old that all three children have worn. My husband bought it in when he was stuck in New York in the days post Sept 11, 2001. Our first baby was 3 months old. It has a police car on it. It is a heavy and hopeful memory.

Prayer Book: This book has been mine for more than 25 years. It holds prayers for every moment of fear, desperation, happiness or gratitude. I’m not very religious but it has sustained me. The breaks in the binding could tell tales. 

Cutlery: I remember using these as a child so I stole them from my mother’s house. They don’t make cutlery like this anymore. 

Make Up: I used this blush / lip colour on my wedding day 14 years ago. I used some recently and nearly poisoned myself! But I won’t throw it away. It stays in my bag. 

De Republik Plastic Bag: On my 30th birthday, in Amsterdam, my husband grinned, “well, if you’re not going to be able to go to a bar and buy pot yourself today, when are you going to do it?” So he stood outside with Baby A while I went in and got this baggie. Because everyone there is SOO TALL the bar was really high and I put my chin on it and it was a tiny Alice In Wonderland experience... 

Stones: In this pile are pebbles from Sfinari in Crete, Loch Lomond, Glasgow, Edinburgh in Scotland, beaches across Goa, one from Dubai, one from a park in London, one from the Alps & some I forget... I like to think I stole a piece of each place I visited. 

Baby Tags: I remember the moment each child was born and my first impressions of them. Baby A had an Elvis sneer, Baby I had a (rare for newborns) beautiful crazy smile & Baby E was just a big ripping thug.

Saucy Jack & the Space Vixen ticket stub: My brand new husband took me to this show on our honeymoon, on my 24th birthday in London. It was all camp and disco and glittery and fantastic and I fell in love with London.

Currency: I love alien coins and notes but this familiar currency is the last few pounds I had when we left the UK. It reminds me of our time there - good bits and tough bits. And the joke is, 'oh look, it's a picture of me mum'...

[tangiblememory]

What is it about our memories that make us hate the fact that we cannot forget as well as be grateful that we can still remember? Sometimes it's a classic Catch-22 situation. "Thank God I still have this", and "I wish I could forget". Perhaps the trick is in taming the mind to treat all memories as equal; neither good nor bad, but just so. But all we know this well, there are some memories that are more equal than others. Those are the ones we carry with us everywhere, either light as a cloud, or heavy as ball and chain.

This is Diva's tangible memory-a file comprising evidence of who she was once. A woman she hesitates to show to the one she has become today. I publish this post with a message to Diva - You are the sum of every one of the selves you have been and ever will be and they are all beautiful.

Have courage.

“What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?” – Andrew Kaufman

1. Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

I have many a times called myself average . Growing up i was terribly shy , timid and unsure of myself . The society i grew up with was materialistic and beauty conscious and i did not see myself fit in any way . Today i come across as a proud , confident and good looking person . I am a late bloomer and am constantly discovering different facets of myself . My name is Diva .

2. What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.) 

A file that i bought when i was 17 .

3. What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

To be honest i havent opened this file ever since i put it together . It has my first love letters , cards , photographs and all the traces of my teenage self that i choose to keep . I think i dont want to open it because i feel it will be painful to see that awkward ugly shy girl again or maybe the real reason i havent looked at it is because i still want to keep the illusions of my first love still alive . I can not part with this file and at the same time i cant face it .

[tangiblememory]

Letters are precious. If we have received even one letter which has meant something to us, we know how true this is. And yet, in an age taken over by technology, we stay further away from pen and paper than ever before in the history of communication.

It is of little wonder then, that our tangible memories begin to consist of handwritten missives. Few and far between, they come to us and we hold on for dear life, just like Deepshikha Chatterjee did with hers. This is her tangible memory.

"What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?" – Andrew Kaufman

  1. Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:

I am a bundle of contradictions. I think in terms of extremes, either in black or in white, grey doesn't really exist for me. Although I like meeting new and interesting people, I also like to spend time on my own. I love the colour purple more than words could ever explain. I love twitter and all the people I've come to know through it.

2. What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)

It is a letter that my friend gave me on the last day of college.

3. What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)

It was the last day of college, 22nd May, 2012. Last day also meant that we were going our seperate ways and that staying in touch however we might say will not happen the way it used to be earlier. we knew that ugly necessities like busy lifestyles, jobs, living in different cities and countries would make it difficult to keep pace with what is happening with people who mean so much to you.

This letter was by a friend who now lives in Muscat, Oman; miles away from New Delhi. I don't know when do I get to see her next or even if I get to see her again or not. This letter is special because it is a reminder of all the moments and memories that we shared, the times that we spent with each other, in gay abandon. This letter will always be a reminder of the special person who entered my life for a very brief period but like a daffodil brought so much happiness, laughter and brightness along.