The Object Of My Affection

The inimitable Kiran tagged me to do this. And I have been having a hard time. Atlases and elephants and bangles. I have no such treasures. Well, maybe I do, I suppose. There is a little steel “gadu” - an odd shaped cup for water that belonged to my mother that belonged to me and now belongs to Chip. But it doesn’t inspire mushy feelings. I have a pair of my grandmother’s earrings and a silver platter that was awarded to my dad. And they are all wonderful things to have no doubt and they will be passed on proudly as such things usually are. They are mine only in transit. The earrings will go to Chip’s wife and the plaque will be given to him as well. They are not mine, not in that sense.

When I came to the States nine years ago as a student, I came with two suitcases and a backpack. Leaving most of my treasures behind. A collection of vintage and old coins. A carved rosewood chest. Little treasures collected as a girl. I felt a sad; perhaps a little nostalgic knowing that this is where we parted ways. These things would not cross the shores with me. But I sneaked in a little treasure. And most of you would have a hearty laugh if you knew what it was. A hairbrush. A little plastic hairbrush. Black. With hard bristles. About eight inches in length. Shaped like curvier paddle or a half-round. Take your pick. The hairbrush is more than a quarter century old and it has quite a bit of amusing history attached to it.

The hairbrush came with a hairdryer set. This was the late seventies, early eighties when hairdryers were a middle class luxury. My dad and mom on their maiden trip to Germany bought a cherry red hairdryer set made by Siemens complete with accessories on sale and brought it home. My mother obviously liked it but I don’t have too many memories of her actually using it. I am sure she was convinced her hair would fall off or turn gray (and no, I don’t blame her). Needless to say, I was completely smitten. Not just by the red hairdryer but also with its box that showed off pretty blonde models using the accessories and features to achieve silky straight hair and tumbling curls. Wow. I begged my mother to let me dry my hair with it and she permitted me to do so a few times, but not more. If I couldn’t have the hairdryer, I begged to use the accessories by themselves – a large comb and a brush. The comb was too commonplace. Every household had one. Brushes, on the other hand were a novelty and I declared the brush as my own. Over the years, the hairdryer was rarely used, although I used the hard bristled brush every single day. Many years later, the hairdryer brunt its coil and was thrown away. I was in my teens. My mother begged me to throw away the hairbrush that came with it. I had several brushes and combs by then, but this one held a special place. Never would I part with the silly hairbrush. For many years, I brushed my hair with it, sort of to finish my hair routine even if the bulk of combing and brushing was done with scalp friendly brushes. It had become a sort of a talisman. To part with it would be to invite untold tragedies upon me.

The brush crossed the Atlantic with me and to every house I moved to, it moved with me. I bought fancier brushes and nicer combs, but this one always stayed. Over the years it collected dirt and dust. It became faded and marked and scratched. It came so dirty that overnight soaking in sudsy water did little to improve its appearance. BigGeek threatened to throw the vile brush away. “You will catch a disease” he pleaded. Hairbrushes were not to be used for a zillion years. True. I had brought and thrown away many, many hairbrushes, but I was unable to part with this one. One day BigGeek followed up on his threat. I found the brush in the trash can. I, of course retrieved it and cleaned it. “It has to get out of this house.” BigGeek said, arms crossed. I relented. The hairbrush was causing him too much distress. “Ok, I promise to get it out of the house.” I said. I was glum. I slipped the hairbrush into my purse and all conversation on the matter ended. I hid it in the glove box of my old car. And it stayed there happily for a while. And then, when I sold the car to the dealer a few years later, I gathered all my stuff and put it in BigGeek’s car. The brush went in his car and hid in the seat pouch at the back. I think BigGeek knows it is there but he has given up on it. I once told BigGeek when I was pregnant that I intend to brush Chip’s hair with that brush. He was horrified that I would expose our little one to such atrocities. But I have sneaked and brushed Chip’s hair with the brush. And he has enjoyed it.

p.s. Wrote it in a hurry yesterday, so forgot to pass along the tag. Gauri, Preethi, choxbox, your turn now.