A rat’s gone and died in the storage room of my house. Rat Kill assured us that the targeted rodent shall go ‘outside’ to breathe it’s last. This one’s ‘outside’, it seems, was the covered section of the balcony in a house on the 8th floor. Now, a search party is upturning an entire corner which has barely been touched in the past 11 years.
Store-rooms tend to be the neglected spaces where we dump all that we don’t need anymore but are not yet ready to let go of either. The uncertainty is a sort of shroud on all things past, present and that could possibly be used in the future, and settles in like the accumulating dust and cobwebs, becoming part of a grainy existence. There’s barely any light, for preservation demands darkness. As does death, come to think of it.
So for all the attachment to, say, an old lamp shade, or some old bedsheets, or an aluminum trunk full of sarees and sweaters from the 80s, there are also darkened windows and a tight opaqueness that probably aim to squeeze the life out of those very things. Sustain the articles, kill the memories. And once a sufficient amount of time has elapsed, and considerable amounts of amnesia have set in, we hold up the articles in bright Sunday morning sunlight and wonder what made us hold onto this irrelevant article in the first place. Detox too, then, needs a right place and time.
Now we’re trying to pack up a bunch of things into old decaying cardboard boxes, to be thrown into the garbage bin or given away. We revisit a decade decayed this February Sunday.
All because of a pesky rat.