The first time I encountered the locket was as a small child. My grandmother has preserved numerous photographs of her parents from their time in British Malaya and India, but one of the most prized possessions is this jade set in a gold locket that had been purchased from Malaya or Singapore by my great-grandfather.
When an object has witnessed Partition, it ceases to be ordinary. In the case of my maternal grandparents, these objects were a framed portrait of my nana, his personal diary, and a silver drinking bowl. A photograph of my nani, Razia Ummul Baneen, holding her first born, my uncle, in her arms. The family also carried a folding wooden chair, a sewing machine, its table and motor, some clothes, and a tarazu. All these made the journey from Delhi to Karachi.
I imagine my great-grandfather, Dr. R. C. De, standing in some provincial town in France during the First World War, choosing this gramophone in a shop filled with the shimmer of brass horns and the solemn promise of music, at a time when Europe was learning the sound of death.
I told Daddyji that we found something that looked like a family tree. He unfolded it, leaned forward, adjusted his glasses, and read aloud in his soft Punjabi-inflected voice: “Shajara-e-Nasab, Bahl Baradari, Qasba Urmar, Zilla Hoshiarpur.” The words came easily to him, as though they lived somewhere familiar in his mouth.
I have seen the wooden crocodile crouched under my mother’s cousin’s shelf for several years now. This Burmese crocodile can be traced back to Sarat Chandra Chatterjee – the renowned literary figure whose contributions to Bengali literature have been immense, most notably Devdas – who spent years living in Burma, working as a clerk.
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