The search…

Yay! It was less a cry of exultation & more a sigh of relief.

That was me at the end of my hour-long search. Or was it longer? Surely it felt more than an hour.

I had started the search with the eagerness of a child on a treasure hunt. For me, it was nothing short of a treasure hunt, maybe even more. But as moments passed and with no sign of what I was looking for, my hopes started to flag. The search seemed endless, at moments even fruitless. But, like a man possessed, I plodded through.

Before beginning the search, like a masterful travel planner, I had charted my route — one room at a time. As per the itinerary, I would start in the living room, follow it up with the kitchen, then move to the master bedroom, then to the second bedroom and then the guest room. I was confident, I would not require to go even half-way to find it, but planning didn’t harm anyone.

I searched in the cabinets, I rifled through my book shelf, rummaged through the drawers and looked under the bed. Hell, I even went through the crockery. Every time, I opened the door of a cabinet or pulled the drawer of a table, I would get a twinkle in my eyes. Every time I sighted an unopened box my hopes soared. But, like an annoying pest, disappointment would make a quick return.

I had dutifully followed the plan and had gone through all the rooms. I had searched every nook and cranny of the house, I thought, when my eyes saw the loft in the guest room. How could I have missed this, I chided myself. I got a ladder. As I climbed up, my heart started beating faster as my hopes soared. I saw a carefully-packed box in the corner and brought it down. With prayer on my lips, I opened the box. A bright light shone through it, I thought. Or maybe it was just my mind playing pranks. Inside the box, sitting alongside a couple of books, there it was. Finally, I had found the photo album. My heart went Yay!

Sunday had begun like any other weekend. A movie marathon the night before followed by a late sleepover meant Sunday mornings usually began with the sun being sky-high. A late start led to breakfast nearly becoming brunch on Sundays. Today’s breakfast was the usual eggs and pan cakes accompanied with tea. But there was something different in it. As I took a sip of the tea, I realized it was not the one we had every day. Yet it tasted so familiar, even more than our regular tea. The taste seemed so dear, it was like an old friend visiting after a long time. A couple of sips later and slowly the memories started to unfold. I closed my eyes. My mind was magically transported to a tea plantation on the hills. I could smell the air hanging over that tea garden. I could see the tea leaves gently dancing in that cool breeze. I could see myself, joyfully running through the garden.

Back to my living room, in the present, I had the faintest recollection of visiting this place many, many years ago. Beside this image of the tea plantation and the sensations it evoked, I failed to retrieve any more details about it. But I was sure that it belonged to my past. I pressed hard against my grey cells in the hope of squeezing out the memory. But try as I may, it won’t let itself out. The memory, without revealing itself, had taken a hold over me. It had caused a sweet pain. Happiness mixed with anxiety and restlessness, I had not felt that for a long time. I knew I had to search for it right away. I knew the answer was in the photo album.

The search had finally borne fruit. I had the photo album. My hands were trembling with excitement as I was about to flip open the album. My memories were safely locked in that album and I was about to unleash them. Like a genie trapped in a bottle for ages about to come out.