A memory through an Attic

So there used to be an attic in our old house, enclosed just above the roof of our passageway. As a child I was thoroughly fascinated by it, maybe since it was out of reach and also because it was deemed as forbidden territory by my mum.  I would often sit and wonder about all the interesting booty and the exciting paraphernalia that would be stored in there.

Then came along one fine Sunday morning when my Dad announced that he was going to get down to cleaning the attic with my help. My brother, I guess was not around then as he must have been busy playing cricket outside and in the bargain knocking off a few window panes, displaying his mischievous bent.

The announcement was followed by a minor disagreement between Dad and my Mum, whether it was safe to thrust me inside the attic as God only knew what ancient aliens from the insect fraternity resided in there ready to pounce. But my Dad being Dad had already sensed the excitement that was tipping at my feet and went ahead declaring with an air of finality that the decision had been taken and I would be entering the infamous attic. My Mum just like the way usually most mothers were in those days resigned to the fact that it was pointless arguing and succumbed to the choice made. Swiftly, within minutes she produced a broom and a mop lest my Dad decided to change his mind. A tall stool was dragged from the balcony or maybe it was borrowed from one of the neighbors, I am not so sure of that. All of this led to much excitement in my head that I was willing to break into a small jig with the intent of discovering the contents inside the attic.

As far as I was concerned it felt like getting ready for some dare-devilry feat and my enthusiasm knew no bounds. 

Watching my steps, I carefully climbed the stool with Dad right behind me. Once I reached on top, he gave me a slight push and I landed inside. An onslaught of a strong musty smell hit my nostril which rendered a coughing bout. The attic had a low ceiling and I could barely manage to sit up without my head touching the roof. The pitch darkness around me felt as if I was part of a dark cave. It was exhilarating and scary at the same time. Suddenly, a light shone from behind, and I turned around to see Dad holding a torch. At the corners, I noticed the cobwebs stirring slowly. Big and small gunny bags tied together with a rope were lying scattered across. Then began the meandering task of passing the various sundry items stored inside the attic to my Dad which was further handed over to my Mum who was waiting at the landing below; a sack full of books, copper vessels of different sizes and shapes, a bent wooden stool all made their way down. Owing to the attic’s low ceiling, Dad had to crouch really low, once he entered inside. The small space was then dusted and mopped clean. At the far end of the attic I noticed a tiny enclosure which led to a small window opening that allowed a ray of light to filter inside. I discovered that the latch had come off making the window rattle due to the wind. I decided to shut it once and for all when my eyes fell on a mother pigeon who was nesting on her eggs. Seeing me, caused a tiny flutter and she began shifting uncomfortably. Both of us turned out to be unexpected visitors for each other in a domain which we claimed as our own. I left the window open and came back without mentioning to Dad what I had just witnessed.

Maybe Dad would have shooed the pigeon away or maybe the eggs would have got dismantled or just like the way I left the whole scene undisturbed, Dad would have done the same and moved away, I wouldn't have known.

So finally we both managed to come down and the netted door of the attic was firmly shut behind. I looked at it longingly knowing that my next visit to the attic was not going to happen in a very long time. I won't say the place was left sparkling clean, as the paint from the shallow walls was crumbling at a few places and the attic still carried a damp musty smell, but the contents were rightly stored back in their respective places and the cobwebs and creepy crawlies were dusted off clean.

Those few hours inside the attic that day along with my Dad, still carries some charming memories in my head. For a moment then, I had a tantalizing thought as what fun it would be to sometimes sneak inside the attic and lie on a makeshift bed looking outside from that tiny window with the pigeon and her eggs resting beside me. My parents along with my brother would have searched for me high and low, questioning each and every one about my whereabouts while all along I would be hunched up in my own private den, a place I would have liked to call a home away from home. But good sense prevailed in me, that certain thoughts were best left only for the imagination, because if I had dared mention it to my Mum then, she would have done some hundred back-flips in her head on listening to my vague plans and at the end of it I would have received a good dressing down.

So this was the attic story and tomorrow incidentally as the day shall dawn nice and bright I shall be remembering my Dad even more thinking about all the happy memories he and I once shared, because it will exactly be a decade since he passed away leaving a gaping hole behind.

He was a gentle and kind soul, who would mean no harm to anyone but at the same time would turn the world upside down just so he could bring a smile to my face.

My Dad was not an ordinary man. For me he was simply extraordinary.

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P.S. The above handiwork is created by my beloved cat Sasha while I was away for the briefest of moments. I gave her a questioning look which was returned with a cool stare from her end, the golden flecks of her eyes changing into different shades of brown. 

In retrospect, I think she has read my mind and has poured her own comforting thoughts on this page which I have left as it is without erasing. And although my Dad and my cat have never met before, I am sure they would have got along famously well while touching each other's lives.