It was one of those chilly mornings when it was colder than the day before. I had been knowingly avoiding my thick winter coat—not because I thought I was tough, but because putting it on felt like admitting winter had won. And winter comes with all those gloomy thoughts of short days, dark nights, and cold toes.
But that day, I gave in. I wore the coat, zipped it up with a sigh, and headed out to work. On my way, I stuffed my hands into the coat pockets to warm them up—because, let’s be honest, gloves are always missing when you need them. That’s when my fingers hit something crinkly. A piece of paper. Curious, I pulled it out.
Lo and behold, it was a ticket to the Tate Modern museum!
Now, I love art. But not the "paint-a-bowl-of-fruit" kind of art—I mean the kind that makes you go, “What in the world is that?” This ticket brought back memories of my last trip to the museum, a trip I can only describe as… an experience.
I remember strolling in, full of enthusiasm, and seeing a huge crowd gathered around something. Naturally, I gravitated towards it. What were they looking at? A wall.
Yes, a white, blank, empty wall!!
Trying to sound like I belonged, I sheepishly asked an attendant, “Excuse me, am I missing something? Where’s the art?”
The attendant smiled, took a deep breath, and said in a dramatic voice, “Ah, t ashis is the art. The blank wall invites you to imagine. Create your own artwork in your mind. Let it inspire you…”
Blah blah blah.....
All I could think was, “So you’re telling me I spent an hour commuting here—train, tube, bus, the works—just to stare at an empty wall? I could’ve done this at home in my pyjamas!” गप गुमान घरी बसले असते ना , इतका खटाटोप कशाला केला मी ? हि भिंत बघायला !!
And yet, somehow, that blank wall made Tracey Emin’s unmade bed and Maurizio Cattelan’s banana duct-taped to a wall look like masterpieces. I mean, at least those things had something on them!
My curious mind now couldn’t resist. I started fishing through my coat pockets like a treasure hunter. And bingo! I found two tiny photographs that instantly took me down memory lane. One was of Gargi when she was just 2 years old, sitting in front of our 'देव्हारा'(home temple). Kiran had clicked it on a day we walked in to find her turning all the god idols to face the window. Confused, I asked her, “Gargoli, why did you do that?” Without missing a beat, she replied, “Because I think all the बाप्पा( Gods )must be bored facing the wall, so I turned their faces to the window so they can watch outside and get entertained!” Kiran and I were floored by her innocent but hilarious logic. We burst out laughing—because honestly, the kid had a point!
The other photo was of Akshaj, also around 2 years old, looking adorably grumpy as he stood on the stairs wearing Kiran’s oversized sliders. That look on his face? Priceless. It was his trademark “Misha!” moment—his angry way of calling me when I didn’t respond fast enough to his royal summons. Seeing those tiny memories frozen in time, I couldn’t help but smile. My cutie pies, always full of mischief and moments that make life sweeter!
Still giggling at the memory, I decided to check the other pocket of my coat. And there it was—another piece of paper. This one wasn’t a ticket, though. It was a letter from my dad.
It was one of the last things he wrote before he passed, just a few sentences scribbled in his unmistakable handwriting. My dad, a man of few words but infinite wisdom (and a cheeky sense of humour), had written about my mum. He described her as impulsive and impatient, but also full of energy and dynamism. “Take care of her,” he’d written. “Nurture her strengths and ignore the rest. You’ll be a happy daughter.”
And boy, was he right. These days, I’ve found myself stepping into the role of being my mum’s mum, and his words echo in my mind every time she’s being, well, her.
That winter coat wasn’t just keeping me warm—it was a time machine. It took me back to the hilarity of Tate Modern , the cheekiness of my little ones and the wisdom of my dad. Some memories made me laugh, others made me tear up, but together they reminded me what life is all about: the ridiculous, the profound, and everything in between.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to check the rest of my coat pockets. Who knows what’s in there? Maybe a banana stuck to some duct tape.
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