These days when I look through old cupboards and cobwebbed attics, I sometimes find old toys of mine, or say an old drawing or sometimes a book, which I had hidden there for some obscure reason. I find plastic binocular, those black ones with a plastic ribbon, dangling from hooks behind unused almirahs. Sometimes, a toy gun, yellow and black striped, remarkably unused and still making the irritating noise, that can only come from such a gun. The other day I found an entire army set, with an entire battalion in various posture of combat, one akimbo, one frozen in an animated run with a rifle and bayonet, one prostrate on its elbows, one in exasperated genuflection and so on; and a olive green jeep to go with it. Sometimes they are useful too, like the contraband Swiss knife, which I so badly needed for its corkscrew. Often, typically stupid, like caps of water bottles and wooden sticks of various dimensions. Seldom embarrassing, like the set of trump cards I flicked from a really old shopkeeper, who is now dead and the shop has been shut down. However, always carrying a jigsaw puzzle of memory.
I had assembled all this on my bed, when my Mom came and said, “Oh! So these are the ones that you hadn’t broken to pieces. You must have loved them a lot!”
Or maybe, I never cared for them a bit.