My brother and I grew 3 bottle guards on his 12th birthday. Unlike the first two that were eaten by the rats, the third one ripened and was good for us to eat. We harvested it and happily ran to our mother hoping she would give us both a small jelly tin, like she always did as a token of appreciation. We reached kitchen to the sight of her crying over the phone. “Grandpa was no more”, she said in a heavy voice. I was 8 years old. The grief of not getting the jelly tin was much more than not being able to see Grandpa again.
Later when we visited Grandma, I saw her dressed like she was in her 20s, talking to a kitten like she used to talk to Grandpa. She felt the kitten flickered a hope of life in her. I walked up to her and asked if Grandpa was reincarnated as the cat, to which she only smiled. My mother wasn’t happy about the situation because the kitten was weak and didn’t seem like she would survive but to her surprise, the kitten grew up to be a full-grown cat and was by Grandma’s side till her last breath on the rocking chair.
As I turned older, there were fewer living people at home and more frames with sandalwood garland. I was learning life and moved out of country. I lost a lot of people and things, left behind a lot of places and memories to find success and love.
While I sat sipping a cup of coffee on a Tuesday morning, I recalled my childhood. How I lost two bottle guards but found one. How Grandma lost Grandpa but found her hope in a kitten. I realized that life is mere a series of “Lost and Found”. I can’t petty myself for what I lost and can’t be proud of what I found. As this thought processed in my head I decided to buy myself small jelly tin.