More than a bit of wood..

In a 5 year old's life not many things are as interesting as the latest game of 'skating' on a floor 'sprinkled' generously with talcum powder wearing our Uncles socks. So one normal un-eventful day, Nana and Pedanana inform us (my cousins M,M and I) that we are proud owners of a new desk each. Now you can imagine what such information could do to three children under the age of 10. We forced our mildly interested selves to hang around until the tables were brought in. Along with it, came a red coloured chair for each of us. Only once the table and chair was set up for each of us,the real excitement began. Lines had to be drawn and borders established so that we wouldn't venture into each other's 'territory'. The chairs were put together facing outwards with a sheet on top to make a tent. The drawers were filledd up with our precious possessions of colored paper, pebbles, shells and other such treasures.Each of us had our own fort and it was our new place to eat, read, play, and err.. sleep. Which was when the parental unit drew the line. Our names were carved not so neatly on the surface and one look at the table even now will take you through our handwriting progress over the years. The drawers were privy to more than just one secret of our growing up years, and graduated from holding pebbles and shells to music cassettes, books and a lot more. It was my place for storing precious stationary, especially the glitter glue my darling brother used to 'decorate' my table. Anything that I wouldn't want to throw away would go into the desk drawer. From time to time Amma would remind me to clean it up and would gently inquire if it all was being kept for my grandchildren. To which she would quite sternly inform me that no one in their right mind would want to keep any of that stuff.
Just before I left home, when we were deciding what to keep and what not to, it was time for my friend to go. Looking at it made me think back to the day it was brought home, and was a part of my life, my growing up years. The books dumped on it, the paintings painted on it, my name carved on every available space in different colors and fonts.It seemed like I was leaving a part of my childhood behind, and in a symbolic way, a time for new beginnings.