Rushing to get ready for my early morning meeting at work, I removed my glasses and left them by the portrait of K and I on my nightstand. I smiled involuntarily at the crooked tie K was wearing in that picture. Through my morning madness, random thoughts came filtering through. The image of the intricate work on the Kancheevaram saree I have on is visible in my mind’s eye in sharp detail. As I glance at the clock before I grab my lunch bag and bid K bye, the vision of my long hair cascading below my shoulder flashes in front of me. I remember the blue shirt, the frame of K’s glasses, the half smile, the shining eyes and tons of insignificant details that I did not even know my mind had absorbed.
Sometime around our first wedding anniversary, I remember bugging K to get this portrait done at Sears. It was a Monday morning, K took time off from work, we were in the empty parking lot of the mall. I felt like I was in Halloween costume with my gorgeous silk saree. Carefully climbing the stairs to the studio, I had second thoughts. Was it all really worth it?
Seven years later, every time I look at the picture, I feel a warmth envelop me. That picture reminds me of all that is young and innocent and trusting. All the hope and joy that is concentrated in the eyes that peer out of the frame makes me want to reach out to the old me. One of my arguments for getting that picture done was that the newness of our relationship was worth cherishing. All that would remain as a memory of the youth we experienced would be this picture I claimed. Years later, I know I was right.
A picture is worth a thousand memories. Each different. Each wonderful.