Gifts that don’t come in wrapping

Gifts normally come in two varieties, those with wrapping and many without. Those without are usually held close to the heart. They carried love, affection, care and responsibility. I was fortunate enough to receive them on several occasions at different places by different people, friends and relatives. They have occupied a special place in my memory.

There were many during the late 1970s. Think of currency notes of small denominations folded into your soft palms by aunts and uncles during their visit to Mangaluru. It repeated when we spent holidays in Bengaluru or Mysuru. When we overslept we could find them beneath our pillows.

There were Reynold pens, scent bottles and chocolates gifted by Gulf returnees to Mangaluru for Eid and Christmas. During festivals, I received Wisdom notebooks, Natraj pencils, ‘Amara Chitra Katha’ and old issues of “Chandamama”.

A neighbour gifted me “Gillette” razor when I joined college, brought by his father from Kuwait. My brother gave me Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s, “The Insulted and Humiliated” purchased in a second-hand book shop, Bombay; written stylishly to Chi Narendra with love. Indeed it was a great gift.

While in college, I was fortunate enough to find myself many times at the receiver’s end. “How to improve your handwriting?” was a book gifted by a senior. Her advice was that I should improve my handwriting. Those soothing words were straight forward neither wrapped nor unwrapped.

I received an umbrella when I joined a postgraduate course in Mangalore University by an aunt of my friend who was in another course. On another occasion, I received novels of a popular author in Kannada. Another time a pair of “Levi’s” jeans came my way, gifted to me by a friend, who was working in Bombay. Advice also came to me in the form of gifts. In the early 1980’s, gifts started to arrive in the form of soothing words. They were in plain language, which touched my heart with warmth and affection.

My friends in different departments, near my home, in our addas (stationery and provision stores) which we frequented often, shared their gifts with me. We shared and cared for each other. These were gifts of great nature, which I received humbly. They were simple but carried love and filled with emotions. These memories flooded my mind during the lockdown and I realised how fortunate I was to receive them.