<p>Sometimes, it takes the smallest of objects to unlock the deepest memories. Recently, when I bought a can of shaving foam, I expected nothing more than a routine addition to my bathroom shelf. But the moment I pressed the nozzle and watched the white foam rise into my palm, I found myself travelling back nearly 34 years – to a different time, a different life.</p>.<p>In an instant, I was no longer standing in my bathroom. I was a young man again, living in a modest middle-income home where every purchase was considered carefully and every expense measured. Imported products were rare luxuries – objects you saw more often in shop windows than in your home.</p>.<p>That was also the year my cousin, Poojitha Rao, then a student at the National Law School of India, travelled to Washington, DC, to participate in a moot court competition. For our family, the very idea felt remarkable. A young member of our family flying abroad to compete at an international stage filled us with pride.</p>.Winter skincare: Nourish, don’t punish.<p>She returned not just with stories of her journey but with something even more memorable in its quiet generosity. With the limited money she must have had as a student, she brought back small gifts for her cousins and family members. Among them were two cans of shaving foam – one for my cousin Ravi and one for me.</p>.<p>Today, such a gift may sound ordinary. But at that time, receiving shaving foam from the US felt almost grand. It was probably the first gift I had received as an adult. I remember examining the can closely – turning it over in my hands, reading the English labels, and admiring the sleek foreign design.</p>.<p>It was not merely shaving foam. It represented affection, thoughtfulness, and pride in being remembered. I used it sparingly, almost with reverence. That single can lasted for four years. Even an everyday routine felt slightly special.</p>.<p>Then, one day, Ravi – who is sadly no longer with us – mentioned that the foam irritated his skin. Without much fuss, he handed his can over to me. And just like that, the gift doubled.</p>.<p>His can lasted another two years or perhaps even longer. Two cans that had travelled across oceans because a young cousin thought of us while standing in a foreign land ended up giving me nearly six years of daily use. Life, of course, moved forward. Brands changed. Priorities shifted. People came and went. And now, after more than three decades, I happened to buy the same shaving foam again and began using it about a week ago. When I pressed the nozzle this time, the familiar scent rose gently in the air – and with it came a flood of memories. Poojitha’s achievement. Ravi’s quiet generosity. Our simple home. And the warmth of knowing that someone had thought of us from thousands of miles away.</p>.<p>A can of shaving foam isn’t expected to carry much emotion. Yet, sometimes the smallest objects become vessels for the biggest memories. This new can may or may not last for four years. But the memory of the first one will last a lifetime.</p>.<p>(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)</p>
<p>Sometimes, it takes the smallest of objects to unlock the deepest memories. Recently, when I bought a can of shaving foam, I expected nothing more than a routine addition to my bathroom shelf. But the moment I pressed the nozzle and watched the white foam rise into my palm, I found myself travelling back nearly 34 years – to a different time, a different life.</p>.<p>In an instant, I was no longer standing in my bathroom. I was a young man again, living in a modest middle-income home where every purchase was considered carefully and every expense measured. Imported products were rare luxuries – objects you saw more often in shop windows than in your home.</p>.<p>That was also the year my cousin, Poojitha Rao, then a student at the National Law School of India, travelled to Washington, DC, to participate in a moot court competition. For our family, the very idea felt remarkable. A young member of our family flying abroad to compete at an international stage filled us with pride.</p>.Winter skincare: Nourish, don’t punish.<p>She returned not just with stories of her journey but with something even more memorable in its quiet generosity. With the limited money she must have had as a student, she brought back small gifts for her cousins and family members. Among them were two cans of shaving foam – one for my cousin Ravi and one for me.</p>.<p>Today, such a gift may sound ordinary. But at that time, receiving shaving foam from the US felt almost grand. It was probably the first gift I had received as an adult. I remember examining the can closely – turning it over in my hands, reading the English labels, and admiring the sleek foreign design.</p>.<p>It was not merely shaving foam. It represented affection, thoughtfulness, and pride in being remembered. I used it sparingly, almost with reverence. That single can lasted for four years. Even an everyday routine felt slightly special.</p>.<p>Then, one day, Ravi – who is sadly no longer with us – mentioned that the foam irritated his skin. Without much fuss, he handed his can over to me. And just like that, the gift doubled.</p>.<p>His can lasted another two years or perhaps even longer. Two cans that had travelled across oceans because a young cousin thought of us while standing in a foreign land ended up giving me nearly six years of daily use. Life, of course, moved forward. Brands changed. Priorities shifted. People came and went. And now, after more than three decades, I happened to buy the same shaving foam again and began using it about a week ago. When I pressed the nozzle this time, the familiar scent rose gently in the air – and with it came a flood of memories. Poojitha’s achievement. Ravi’s quiet generosity. Our simple home. And the warmth of knowing that someone had thought of us from thousands of miles away.</p>.<p>A can of shaving foam isn’t expected to carry much emotion. Yet, sometimes the smallest objects become vessels for the biggest memories. This new can may or may not last for four years. But the memory of the first one will last a lifetime.</p>.<p>(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)</p>
