“I am so bored and I just cannot understand why my parents won’t send me to the camp you are going to. I am already tired of sitting at home and looking at all those SAT books” sighed Riya to her best friend Nehal as she stared out of her window. The distant drone of the lawnmower and shrieks of kids at the neighbor’s pool blended in to the background as Nehal said her goodbyes. “Well then, have fun and I promise I will email regularly” Riya said before hanging up.

It was shaping up to be a yet another boring summer.  She could understand why her parents insisted that she skip the usual fun-filled summer camp and concentrate on getting ready for her big year at school. She really could. But it didn’t help. A week into the holidays and she was angry, upset and frustrated already.

Logging off the computer, Riya glanced at the clock. “Chai o’clock”, she muttered as she walked towards the kitchen. Making herself a cup of tea and grabbing a couple of biscuits, she wondered what to do till her parents arrived from work. “Another hour and half”. She was expected to help with dinner and the dishes after going through her study plan and practice test scores with them. “The attic it is today” she declared as she made her way up the stairs.

“The attic” had long been an item on Riya’s ever growing to-do list. Nestled amongst pre-calculus review, return V’s notes, Crème de Menthe OPI nail color and catch up with Rohan, it lay untouched for weeks. It was her summer project– to explore the attic. The place piled with boxes full of memories from childhood, artifacts from the past and assorted things that didn’t fit the everyday routines. This is where the Diwali lamps and Christmas ornaments were stored. Rice flour in all shades of the rainbow used for drawing rangolis, Halloween costumes, school textbooks from the past, the grinder that was hauled all the way from India and such found their way to the attic.

There she was today, getting ready for Mission Explore Attic. Pushing open the door and turning on the rather feeble light, Riya walked around peeping into boxes and taking in all the assorted items that had not found their way to boxes. She moved towards the back of the attic, opening boxes and hoping to find traces of her parents past -before they became Riya’s mom and dad.

There was her crib. Her rocking horse. And that pink and purple desk. She sat on the rocking horse and rocked. Pulling out her phone she took a selfie. “That would be one cool profile picture”, she thought. Boxes filled with clothes – ones that had not made it to the charity bins, winter gear, swimsuits, shoes barely wore and such. Boxes filled with curios and souvenirs from their vacations and holidays. A bottle of sand from Cozumel, postcards from India, fake and cheap replica of the Eiffel tower and more. “Boring stuff” she declared to no one. Her eyes looking for something unknown.

At the corner stood a few suitcases – aged, handles broken and held together with duct tape, edges faded and sad. “Yes! That is what I need to look into” Riya declared pulling the one closest to her. “Dad’s notes from his post graduate studies” she exclaimed as she discovered notebooks and folders in the suitcase. Her hands traced the straight lines and general cleanliness. She flipped through the pages hoping for something to pop out, something to speak to her. All she could see was lines and lines of organized thoughts – thoughts expressed in numbers. Notebook after notebook filled with things that she could not wrap her head around. “Another day perhaps” she said to the stale dust filled air around her as she zipped the suitcase shut and pulled another one.

A faded red bag with a large plaid purple ribbon tied in its broken handle. The ribbon that refused to age and fade like the red bag. It stood glaringly out-of-place in the attic filled with discarded stuff. As she opened the bag, the first thing that hit her was the smell – smell of camphor. Just like in the mandir. Jasmine, rosemary and mint mingled together into a heady fragrance. “Hmm” she inhaled the fragrance and peered in. The bag lay almost empty but for a box in the bottom.

A large wooden box, crudely carved with A.M – her mother’s initials. The box was surprisingly heavy. She opened the box with trepidation. She was not sure why. It was just box but something instinctively warned her that she was opening the Pandora box. A box holding secrets and questions. A box that was special and a treasure.

A gallimaufry greeted her as she opened the box. A hodgepodge. A mish mash, a jumble of memorabilia. She gave a wry grin as she realized she had used the word “gallimaufry”. Did anyone use it anymore? All those years of prepping for the Spell Bee did leave a mark.

A piece of dried turmeric, a handkerchief – pristine white with a yellow crochet edging, a 50 paisa coin dull and gray with time, a lock of hair folded in tissue, a watch – one of those cheap digital ones stopped at 7:43, a rusted key, a green spool of thread and a laminated picture of Gurvayurappan. She kept looking at each of these objects, willing them to tell their story. A story she might never know.

Glancing at her watch, she put back the box and walked away from the secrets it held and the attic. Secrets were after all meant to be unknown. “Another item off my to-do list” she thought as she turned off the light and pulled the attic door shut.

I am attempting to write short scenes for the April A to Z challenge. I randomly select words and write something around it. It has not been an easy attempt but I plan to try and challenge myself. Please throw some words at me. I to Z are open. I will dedicate the story to you (if ever I come up with one) and don’t forget to wish me luck. I need them in truckloads.This post is a part of the April A to Z challenge. 26 days, 26 letters and 26 short stories. Come back tomorrow for more.