Family curse, a common used and tested theme and plot thread
that runs in fairy tales, Hindi films and metaphorically used in novels. Family
curses run for generations and affect every living being in the family, often
gender specific and hurts the first born or last born, at times every born.
Casted by witches, cursed by offended sages or a price paid for mage’s magic.
Ancient and new they exist everywhere in the world.
My family of satire has been cursed with certain curse for
ages, the last source I could trace of this curse exists in the feet of my
Maternal-Great-Grandmother. Family of satire suffers from an ancient curse
which has run down in our blood and has no scope of being cured. The most
effected of this curse is my dear mother and elder sister, followed by me. My
grandmother to have been a victim of this curse, but strangely her
granddaughter from her son has been immune to this curse. Thus it forces my
mind to conclude that the bearer of the curses her daughters from the
omnipotent mother of the family.
The curse lies in our hands and mind, anything we touch or
keep aside as safekeeping vanishes without a trace. Our hands are most
effective tool of execution but we have our brain power too which can erase out
any memory related to the vanished object. My Great-Grandmother forgot her
slippers in Cinema Hall and walked back home bare foot without recalling that
she ever wore slippers, luckily my uncle found them later. The lady had been
invoked with a permanent fear when Salt Crisis and Oil Crisis had taken place
in Pre-Independent India. So she would collect and hide salts in pots and store
oil in old bottles, often to forget and totally be clueless about it. When she
left this world, a decent amount of Indian Rupees had been found under her
mattress, but most probably she had erased the memory about it.
The curse get more refined and specific with each
individual, when it entered my Grandmother she had her
own adventures with her
sarees and books. She will forget her keys and blame her husband for their
loss. She keeps narrating stories and will mix legends that were never heard
of. Her forgetfulness is more mental over her physical manifestation. Though
she has her fair share of forgetfulness and vanishing acts like Harry Houdini,
she cannot compete for the Title of Vanishing of Family, as her daughter and
granddaughter are most suitable for the title.
My mother has a record to keep things in safe place and
forget about it. The oldest story I can claim is her burying her dolls as they
were dead in her stories and forget about them, later when she resurrected them
poor clothe dolls would be soiled. As my grandfather had a transferring job, on
one such eventful day when whole house was on the move, my mother placed her
gold ring on top of the mirror and forgot about and recalled it when they
reached their new destination. In recent cases she gladly took her and mine
Pan-cards for safe keeping and we kept searching the house for next two months
as no memories existed in our mind, only to find them inside perfume’s box.
While we were transferring to our new home from our old quarter she kept her
five hundred crisp note in some purse, three years later she is still on the
search. Often her passbook, LPG connection book, cable connection book vanish
mysteriously to find their place back in the cupboard. Time to time her
cell-phones vanish only to realise our Persian Cat Golide is warming them like
a hen warming its eggs. Though this curse is exclusive to female of the family,
my mother’s husband, that’s my father has been under the diameter of the curse
for too long. He has his share of forgetting and vanishing things. But in his
case its always wallets and bigger notes.
But the most competent for the Title of Vanishing Queen is
my elder sister. She vanished her earring in grade sixth and after failing to
find it came crying home. In due course she has lost plenty many things; most
popular is losing my cell phone in one single auto ride, though before she had
attempted twice too loose hers. She had kept notes and coins in pouches later
to misplace them, which often served as my pocket money when I found them. But
the lists are never ending, her Matriculation Admit Card went missing and for years
she got rebuked, when finally after six years she got a duplicate one, we found
her original one in my Grandmother’s house in an old purse which was meant to
keep only my mother’s certificates. While travelling in taxi she lost her
clutch (purse) carrying her Debit Card, Pan-Card and money. The bank manger
intentionally created and gave a new debit card with higher maintenance cost to
cure her of the curse. Though now happily content with her new Pan-Card, the
curse is far from over, let’s hope the passport that is to come is immune from
the poetic justice.
Lastly the curse affects me in my own way; I am more a
victim of situations. The curse executes itself with external agents. Despite
having a Pan-card, Driving License, Voter’s Id, Matriculation Admit Card, I
wasn’t able to apply for passport as my parents submitted my original birth certificate
to my school that vanished it years back. So technically for all this years I
was never born. Once my hundred rupees vanished and I was upset for days. A
year or two back my bank account suddenly had depletion in money, later to realise
my sister mistakenly used my card thinking it as hers’. But most terrible game was played by fates
with me recently, when I was unable to find my University Registration Card and
Fifth Semester admit card for exam form fill up. The pouch which had my
pencils, pen and both the paper vanished completely from the house. Though I
somehow survived the form fill up with scan copies of the paper, my mind was
going bonkers. My mind came to rest when we found the whole pouch next day
shoved inside a big bag which was used as makeshift dustbin in my mother’s
cleaning spree to hide the miscellaneous objects that lay on bed. But life is
never easy; I had my poetic justice as my Smurf Pencil Bag is missing now!
P.S- In conclusion with our inherited curse my home is
haunted too. Thus I rename it to Vanishgard from Aashirvad (Blessing). The inhabitants of the house are Vanishgardian (you got the joke right?)
thanking you to bear with me
paulOaries
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