Another post for The Earrings Project.
Sometimes, things are set into motion long before you and I can fathom. When these pretty droplets were being made, I probably didn’t even know the person who gifted them to me. They weren’t even purchased keeping me in mind. They were bought on a whim at a small market in Rajasthan. They were stored in a small crinkly plastic bag, along with another pair, meant to gift to acquaintances as a small token of remembrance.
But one afternoon when I professed my love for junk jewelry, specifically earrings, the person promptly reached out for a crinkly plastic bag in the recesses of a wooden cupboard and asked me to pick, red or green.
I picked these. Because I had been wanting such a shade for as long as I can remember (never mind that I keep saying this all the time).
They are not perfect. But they mark a special moment in time, reinforcing the belief that what is meant to find you, most certainly will. Mostly when you’re least expecting it.
Another post for The Earrings Project
They are not the prettiest pair I possess. Not my favourite either. But they are pretty goddamn special. The grandmother received these beauties, gift-wrapped in golden, at a mehendi function. And when her aging fingers pried them open, she smiled. She knew she had found the perfect peace offering to placate me.
We had been in a cold war of sorts the last few weeks. And I wasn’t willing to relent. Until I set my eyes on this exquisiteness and beamed wide. Perhaps she does know me more than she’s willing to admit.
I’m yet to wear them. In wait for an appropriate occasion. And perhaps a new outfit!
*First published here.
My maiden post for The Earrings Project!
As far as I can remember, I’ve hated jewelry. Some of my bitterest fights with the mother and grandmother have been about that. They wish I wore more. I can’t wait to divest it all. The mother has mostly come to terms with it. But the one thing she will not concede on is earrings. I cannot leave home without them. She is a little superstitious like that. And so like I run a comb through my hair and gargle with mouthwash each time I step out of home, I also slip on a pair of earrings.
Junk jewelry. And only earrings. That’s our middle ground. The parents gifted me my first set in a parcel shipped to the boarding school when I hit the teens. They were tiny silver heart-shaped droplets. Very light, very dainty. It was love at first sight. And a love I never tired of.
Since then I’ve only worn junk jewelry. The more valuable stuff has been relegated to the mother’s collection. Mine only consists of colorful trinkets picked up from random places, most on a whim; a few that I went in careful search of.
Unfortunately, I lost one half of that first pair soon after I returned home. The “how” eludes me today. The ache persists. Over the years, I have come across numerous silver heart-shaped beauties but nothing comes close to the ones that ignited this love.