ScrapBooks

Dainty little books with jazzy kaleidoscopic pages, which speak volumes, but at the same time mask so much more. Scrapbooks have been a momentous and imperative part of life for every teenager. Each one has a theme to it, an elegant pink with little hearts for the more effeminate ones or a more subtle red and black combo. It reflects very well the ethos and temperament of its ‘master’, a sports car admirer or a cricket zealot, a hopeless romantic or a Titanic connoisseur. Vivid colours and classy styles are overwhelming. The scrapbooks are graced with remarks from friends, cohorts, associates, cousins, secret paramours or whoever has earned the honour to be featured on those pages.

Just like others, I have been there too. Filling in scrapbooks and getting them filled was a ritual, especially towards the end of school. For some it was an assortment of memories, for some it was mere convention. Some used it as an excuse to unleash their hidden penchants while others to haul attention. To me they were invaluable assets which comprehended numerous precious little secrets. Secrets about friends and foes, secrets about furtive passions and credulous envy, secrets that could change everything in our young lives. Laden with cryptic codes, symbols and initials, the scrapbooks could be a baleful ordnance in the hands of an adversary. Moreover they were embellished with love & affection and adorned with our feelings for each other. Scrapbooks were right there next to ‘the dear diary’. They were concealed far away and beyond the bounds of parents, teachers or anyone out of the realm. It was our turf where no intruders could tread.

Years later, scrapbooks from school lie dusty and arenose in an ornate box in a closet. Parents constantly badger and nag us to abjure the ‘junk’ collection, in order to make more room. Deep down we are cognizant of the fact that these scrapbooks are sheer fragments of paper. But we never have the heart to budge them from their amiable spot. When old friends get together and unfasten the rusty chest of memories, these bits of paper, interlaced with strings of affection, emanate. Opening them brings up several anecdotes from the past. It is like reliving the antiquity. Flipping through those pages is like turning through the old chapters of the book of our lives… golden times when we were young and puerile. Smiles and tears, mocks and quarrels, everything is bundled up in those bits of paper. Eyes sparkle with a glint and faces gleam with smiles. The giggles are incessant. Abysmal joy captivates our heart.

The scrapbooks lead us down a memory lane which we rarely tread upon. Our diligent everyday lives fail to grant us an instant to cherish our golden memories. The old scrapbooks that we stumble upon in our drawers or closets are a school of vintage recollections from our past. They lead us on a journey, the path to which has been long forsaken.