<p>I set to my task, determined to devote an hour delving into a couple of 6-pack can carry-cases brought back from New York in the mid-eighties and discard at least 50% of whatever would be the treasures I’d stumble upon...</p>.<p>Five minutes passed as my wobbly-knobbly arthritic fingers wrestled with the zip to ‘open sesame’ each bag. Nestled in the top one was a Canon camera, which a good pal had presented me on my 60th birthday in 2009.</p>.<p>A dinky little canon, which I could handle comfortably despite a not too firm grip, got me interested in photographing much within sight, as limited mobility didn’t afford me the luxury of manoeuvring my body to catch a more appropriate view of the subject. However, this camera called for the use of 2 Double-A batteries and ran through them as though in a time-bound clicking competition.</p>.<p>Now that I’ve moved on to a rechargeable battery operated Canon, plus photography at times with my smartphone, am ready to pass on the original possession, but it finds no takers. Even the teeniest of kids seems more adept at smartphone shoots with ‘ready to pass on clicks’ through social media. Despite, therefore, my best intentions to dispense with the item, it is back in the case. In the next case, I discover the precious possessions. Medals of honour and badges that I earned for prowess at the hockey field and academic pursuits. Gold and silver-plated perhaps, now tarnished with age, attached to faded ribbons of various hues. Indispensable. Even more collected from participating twelve years in a row from 2008, at the TCS 10K World Bengaluru Run under the ‘Champions with Disability’ category. Now, who would be interested in these I wonder, so back in the bag they go.</p>.<p>Dive on, and I’m greeted by a couple of carefully preserved autograph books that did the rounds of classmates, family, friends to write in a special message. A peek into these as I attempt to visualise the then familiar faces to connect with their names, leave alone the messages, sketches appended that engulf me in a sublime emotional stupor of memories. I carried them to a reunion of a few schoolmates once, and we giggled our guts out at the contents. The books too are back in the bag.</p>.<p>Re-zipped and restored to the stowaway shelf as throw away would’ve been too traumatic. </p>
<p>I set to my task, determined to devote an hour delving into a couple of 6-pack can carry-cases brought back from New York in the mid-eighties and discard at least 50% of whatever would be the treasures I’d stumble upon...</p>.<p>Five minutes passed as my wobbly-knobbly arthritic fingers wrestled with the zip to ‘open sesame’ each bag. Nestled in the top one was a Canon camera, which a good pal had presented me on my 60th birthday in 2009.</p>.<p>A dinky little canon, which I could handle comfortably despite a not too firm grip, got me interested in photographing much within sight, as limited mobility didn’t afford me the luxury of manoeuvring my body to catch a more appropriate view of the subject. However, this camera called for the use of 2 Double-A batteries and ran through them as though in a time-bound clicking competition.</p>.<p>Now that I’ve moved on to a rechargeable battery operated Canon, plus photography at times with my smartphone, am ready to pass on the original possession, but it finds no takers. Even the teeniest of kids seems more adept at smartphone shoots with ‘ready to pass on clicks’ through social media. Despite, therefore, my best intentions to dispense with the item, it is back in the case. In the next case, I discover the precious possessions. Medals of honour and badges that I earned for prowess at the hockey field and academic pursuits. Gold and silver-plated perhaps, now tarnished with age, attached to faded ribbons of various hues. Indispensable. Even more collected from participating twelve years in a row from 2008, at the TCS 10K World Bengaluru Run under the ‘Champions with Disability’ category. Now, who would be interested in these I wonder, so back in the bag they go.</p>.<p>Dive on, and I’m greeted by a couple of carefully preserved autograph books that did the rounds of classmates, family, friends to write in a special message. A peek into these as I attempt to visualise the then familiar faces to connect with their names, leave alone the messages, sketches appended that engulf me in a sublime emotional stupor of memories. I carried them to a reunion of a few schoolmates once, and we giggled our guts out at the contents. The books too are back in the bag.</p>.<p>Re-zipped and restored to the stowaway shelf as throw away would’ve been too traumatic. </p>