From my early days, when I was a child, I remember the shape and size of this small thing which belonged to my father and he carried it in his pocket from morning to evening as the most essential component of his life. It was the soul of his body and later we came to know it as the soul of the whole household.
It used to be an eternal source of joy for all me and everybody in the family. It was everything for him as he held it so dear to him and every evening before retiring to his bed, he would just put it aside on a side table or anything that lay close by his bed.
It was my father’s valet. Crafted from an inexpensive piece of brown leather, it gave a strange pungent odour which soon acquired familiarity and over the time, its edges started showing sign of weariness its status in the family had become more important. It was a sign of economic stability as it supported our desires and aspirations.
Many times we asked him to replace it and buy a new one for his pockets and during our shopping spree, he would spend hours together standing in the shop looking for an identical and ideal valet to suit his pocket but every time he would settle to support the old one and leave the shop in a hurry. We used to call it finance minister and he would smile to say, the portfolio of the finance minister could not be changed. So he used to decline all our efforts to prevail upon him to buy a new purse.
There is an emotional connection with my valet too and therefore, I cannot change it. I don’t want to change it. He would often say putting every voice to silence. Yes, there was his emotional concern too. He would not miss it and would go panicky if it was not there in its place.
We used to wonder what did it carry? None of us dared to peep into his purse. Our mother forbade us to do it and really we maintained the sanctity of her words. We always kept it in utter reverence as it was the real paymaster of everything that he could afford and sometimes, he acceded to pay even for those things which we thought were beyond its reach.
We had good and bad times as everybody has in his life, but never in our life were we short of money. As children we knew only one thing that money comes from the valet of our dad but where it came from in his purse, we did not know. It used to be none of our business as our mother told us mind our own. Many times we used to wonder whence it came from.
Our father did not keep a regular job. He worked for one organization but after its closure he did not switched on to the other. He preferred to work as independently as he could. Day in and day out he put in more hardship to attain independence and stability. Later on he took to a routine where he would work only for few days of the months when he was required to go touring various parts of the country in connection with his lectures at all other times he would spend hours together every day working on projects which were known to him only. He would probe deeply into the books which were lined along the walls of his study and used to burn the midnight oil as if he were to take up some university examination the next day. He would type on the keyboard of his old computer without looking on the screen and then sit for hours in deep contemplation. We loved him as he supported all of us, our dreams and desires.
From this purse he paid for everything he bought for the family, from food to clothes, from our school fees to our pocket money. He would take it out to pay for the shopping bills, medicines, books and tours and even when he was seeing me off at the airport, he took it out and searched for some currency notes which he had put aside for some specific purpose and pushed into my hand.
I have returned yesterday to visit him before leaving for my next assignment. The same purse is lying before me. Out of curiosity, I hold it and feel the same old warmth that used to tickle our heart. I held it close to my nostrils to feel the same old pungent leathery odour. I had missed it. I opened it to see what it carried.
There were paper slips, numerable to count. There was no money except some bank slips showing atm transactions where in each slip the balance was reduced to few hundred rupees.
First time, I felt so bad for him. I took out all the transaction slips with and replaced them with money from my valet. This purse must never go empty. I said to myself and feeling content over my action, I put it back in its place and left the room.
