He never understood it. Even till the last day, the last ride, the last handshake, the last rebuke, the last few steps away and the last fleeting glance, he would never, truly understand.
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He cursed as he opened word documents and excel sheets on his computer to figure out the last time he had saved his passwords. These online trading accounts and codes and passwords - every single one of them had their own rules and it was terrible trying to remember them. This particular one - a demat account, was a torment. Every single page spawned a request for some new entry and puzzle to be solved, driving him crazy.
He knew he had some money parked in the account - yet he had no way of getting to it. None of the password combinations he had ever used seemed to work, and the site kept throwing jargon at him. Perhaps the original documents that he had got with this account opening form could help?
He was terrible with passwords and codes. But he was good at keeping actual documents in the physical form, nicely tucked away, organised, arranged alphabetically were required and more so, in tip top shape. The only challenge was he never kept them all in the same place. His first stop was his drawer but apart from all the food delivery menu's and bills he found nothing. Right below was the cabinet but all it housed was boxes of products that had long moved out of the original casing and now adorned various part of his home. For some reason, it made sense to him to retain the boxes and the bubble wrap and the little manuals. No one ever knew why, but he did.
In the bedroom was his main safe. Housed inside was little knick knacks that were higher in priority than boxes, but not so important that he would lose sleep over if he lost them. Like the fancy stylus he bought for ipad but never used more than once. Or the folder containing the warranty documents of the expensive equipment in the house - the TV, Refrigerator and the newest member, the Microwave. But what he was looking for wasn't there either.
Finally he turned to the holy grail of safe keeping - a decade old suitcase at the bottom of the wardrobe. So dusty that the dark green of the cover could hardly be seen. He opened it gingerly , careful not to rake up a dust storm that would have him sneezing for a week. On top was a big brown envelope that had all his banking documents, some almost 15 years old. It was all messed up, but he was pretty sure it had nothing of significant value in it. The next was a White envelope, the former content of which included his first official job offer, though now that document was placed somewhere else. It now contained all the "investment" documents - something used once every year to show that you have invested in something. At the very bottom, was the big black Manila envelope - his favorite. Used as a resume holder for many an interview, and quite successfully too till someone borrowed it and returned it ripped.
He gently opened it - and right up front was the original document of the demat account. Heaving a sigh of relief, he looked through it, and spotted the number that would hopefully do the trick. Too lazy to carry it back to his room with the suitcase wide open, he copied the number on to his phone. The documents went neatly back into the chasm that the contents of the suitcase had made for it, after years of not being ever cleared out completely.
He pushed himself up off the floor but immediately felt an oddity under his palm. He paused and looked at this document that had failed to restrain itself to the confines of the place it had been allotted in his suitcase, and in the dark corners of his heart.
It was a perfect square and faded white was the wedding card received a long, long time ago. For it's age and all the dust, it still remained quite white. A colour that went well with simplicity and luxury, and such was this one too. A textured border around the sleeve with a square card inside that held the name of the bride and the groom, and their parents, and a date. Quite original during its time, a stand out amongst heavily designed gold and red wedding cards.
He stared at it for a bit, expressionless, reading it over. He could have thrown it away, but something held him back. This card had survived even though his feelings were long dead. Confined, constrained, inconspicuous and silent all these years, without a sound and that made it even more profound, as if there was a purpose for it to be there. A cruel reminder, or a gentle nudge to let go of things that were not in his control perhaps.
He didn't feel anything, but he clearly remembered how he had felt when he got the card, and till the day the deed was done. There would be evidence in his diary, describing every single detail and the roller coaster of thoughts and madness. But did that diary manage to survive all these years as well?
He threw the wedding card back into the suitcase and walked towards his book shelf.
(to be cont'd)
Read part 2 here
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