It starts from my childhood clothes: funny pants—dirty, dusty, some parts torn. They have the smell of my childhood, when I played in the dust with my friends and built mud houses, spent hot days of the summer in the sun. When I see my childhood clothes I remember my sunburned face and the pain of my nose when I washed it with warm water.
I am in a different world with different feelings when I look in the postcards of my album. I remember my teenage time, the days I went to school. I remember Fahima, my school friend who gave me a Bollywood postcard and told me that she is in love with the picture and will marry the superstar after she graduates from school. She was a simple girl with her super dreams and I was also—I believed she would marry the superstar!
When I look at other clothes in the corner of the room, I see the jumper I took from Laila by force; she became angry at first, then when I helped her with the bag full of potatoes that snowy day of winter, she gave me the jumper on my birthday. I see the green chadar (veil), which is Karima’s favorite color and with that I remember the happy spring memories I had with her.
The Taj Majal sculpture on my dressing table is a memory of my very close friend Sela, and reminds me of her romance and love with her boyfriend. She couldn’t keep the sculpture herself so she gave it to me.
I also have a collection of songs, which relate to different memories, and when I play them I want to cry for those moments with my friends. I sometimes play the song “Last Night” more than ten times.
Last night till the morning
I told story to my darling
He was sleep
I was awake told stories
I told many stories
I cried slowly not to wake him up
I repeated my stories
Till the end of night…
Everything in my museum has a special cost; they are unique, and dear, dearest as my friends. The two most dear and precious have to do with my dad. There is my watch, which Dad sent from a trip, and the other is what I see in the mirror, my lovely shiny hair. Dad told me never cut it. I love girls with long hair. Every day when I comb my long brown shiny hair, I remember him.
I have only lost one thing, which I still can’t forget the pain of. I lost my love letters, which I hid in my grandfather’s winter coat 15 years ago. Last Sunday my husband gave the coat to a poor man!
The objects I have kept are all reminders for me, of golden times, happy moments and long sorrows. They are like alarms waking me up to remind my mind to be happy, and understand the value of friendship and learn the lessons of ever-constant love.