Family curse, a common used and tested theme and plot thread that runs in fairy tales, Hindi films and metaphorically used in novels. Family curses run for generations and affect every living being in the family, often gender specific and hurts the first born or last born, at times every born. Casted by witches, cursed by offended sages or a price paid for mage’s magic. Ancient and new they exist everywhere in the world.
My family of satire has been cursed with certain curse for ages, the last source I could trace of this curse exists in the feet of my Maternal-Great-Grandmother. Family of satire suffers from an ancient curse which has run down in our blood and has no scope of being cured. The most effected of this curse is my dear mother and elder sister, followed by me. My grandmother to have been a victim of this curse, but strangely her granddaughter from her son has been immune to this curse. Thus it forces my mind to conclude that the bearer of the curses her daughters from the omnipotent mother of the family.
The curse lies in our hands and mind, anything we touch or keep aside as safekeeping vanishes without a trace. Our hands are most effective tool of execution but we have our brain power too which can erase out any memory related to the vanished object. My Great-Grandmother forgot her slippers in Cinema Hall and walked back home bare foot without recalling that she ever wore slippers, luckily my uncle found them later. The lady had been invoked with a permanent fear when Salt Crisis and Oil Crisis had taken place in Pre-Independent India. So she would collect and hide salts in pots and store oil in old bottles, often to forget and totally be clueless about it. When she left this world, a decent amount of Indian Rupees had been found under her mattress, but most probably she had erased the memory about it.
The curse get more refined and specific with each individual, when it entered my Grandmother she had her
own adventures with her sarees and books. She will forget her keys and blame her husband for their loss. She keeps narrating stories and will mix legends that were never heard of. Her forgetfulness is more mental over her physical manifestation. Though she has her fair share of forgetfulness and vanishing acts like Harry Houdini, she cannot compete for the Title of Vanishing of Family, as her daughter and granddaughter are most suitable for the title.
My mother has a record to keep things in safe place and forget about it. The oldest story I can claim is her burying her dolls as they were dead in her stories and forget about them, later when she resurrected them poor clothe dolls would be soiled. As my grandfather had a transferring job, on one such eventful day when whole house was on the move, my mother placed her gold ring on top of the mirror and forgot about and recalled it when they reached their new destination. In recent cases she gladly took her and mine Pan-cards for safe keeping and we kept searching the house for next two months as no memories existed in our mind, only to find them inside perfume’s box. While we were transferring to our new home from our old quarter she kept her five hundred crisp note in some purse, three years later she is still on the search. Often her passbook, LPG connection book, cable connection book vanish mysteriously to find their place back in the cupboard. Time to time her cell-phones vanish only to realise our Persian Cat Golide is warming them like a hen warming its eggs. Though this curse is exclusive to female of the family, my mother’s husband, that’s my father has been under the diameter of the curse for too long. He has his share of forgetting and vanishing things. But in his case its always wallets and bigger notes.
But the most competent for the Title of Vanishing Queen is my elder sister. She vanished her earring in grade sixth and after failing to find it came crying home. In due course she has lost plenty many things; most popular is losing my cell phone in one single auto ride, though before she had attempted twice too loose hers. She had kept notes and coins in pouches later to misplace them, which often served as my pocket money when I found them. But the lists are never ending, her Matriculation Admit Card went missing and for years she got rebuked, when finally after six years she got a duplicate one, we found her original one in my Grandmother’s house in an old purse which was meant to keep only my mother’s certificates. While travelling in taxi she lost her clutch (purse) carrying her Debit Card, Pan-Card and money. The bank manger intentionally created and gave a new debit card with higher maintenance cost to cure her of the curse. Though now happily content with her new Pan-Card, the curse is far from over, let’s hope the passport that is to come is immune from the poetic justice.
Lastly the curse affects me in my own way; I am more a victim of situations. The curse executes itself with external agents. Despite having a Pan-card, Driving License, Voter’s Id, Matriculation Admit Card, I wasn’t able to apply for passport as my parents submitted my original birth certificate to my school that vanished it years back. So technically for all this years I was never born. Once my hundred rupees vanished and I was upset for days. A year or two back my bank account suddenly had depletion in money, later to realise my sister mistakenly used my card thinking it as hers’. But most terrible game was played by fates with me recently, when I was unable to find my University Registration Card and Fifth Semester admit card for exam form fill up. The pouch which had my pencils, pen and both the paper vanished completely from the house. Though I somehow survived the form fill up with scan copies of the paper, my mind was going bonkers. My mind came to rest when we found the whole pouch next day shoved inside a big bag which was used as makeshift dustbin in my mother’s cleaning spree to hide the miscellaneous objects that lay on bed. But life is never easy; I had my poetic justice as my Smurf Pencil Bag is missing now!
P.S- In conclusion with our inherited curse my home is haunted too. Thus I rename it to Vanishgard from Aashirvad (Blessing). The inhabitants of the house are Vanishgardian (you got the joke right?)
thanking you to bear with me