The brass box from Sushi’s childhood

TEXT BY KRITIKA KARKI
 Pictures from Karkis of Kumaon Archives and by Srishti Deopa
Pune, Maharashtra, India

Among the many stories and memories I encountered while documenting my family’s archive, the most tender are those shared by my youngest grandmother, Sushila Manral, or Sushi Ama (“Ama” is grandmother in Kumaoni). I say youngest because she is my grandfather’s youngest sister. We were fortunate to be close to almost all his siblings, which meant we had access to multiple versions of grandparents.

In one of these recollections, she told me the story of the brass box from her childhood. “I have carried the box with me for more than 70 years because it reminds me of my brothers and their love for me.” Born on 15 March 1945 in the stunning hill town of Almora, then part of Uttar Pradesh, now Uttarakhand – Sushi Ama was the youngest in a family of nine siblings. Being the baby of the family made her the recipient of immense love and affection, especially from her much older brothers. The brass box is one such innocent token of affection, which has endured the test of time.

The box was gifted to 10 year old Sushi by my grandfather Digambar Singh Karki or Diggu Daju (older brother in Kumaoni) as she would fondly call him. In the early 1950’s he found this box on one of his travels to nearby Lucknow and Kanpur. It was common in the hills for young men and women to move to the lower, hotter “plains” for better opportunities in cities like Lucknow and Allahabad (now Prayagraj). 

The gift, which could easily fit in the palm of an adult, was presented to Sushi once Daju visited Almora on his leave from work. The small box with a latch, circular lid and a curved handle made for a great source of delight. The box itself, made of brass or peetal, features intricate jaali work and the fine work is clearly visible in its perforated design. In those days, Uttar Pradesh was globally known for its craftsmanship in brassware. Sushi immediately began using it to store the small clothes of her dolls. These dolls, if you’re wondering, were completely handmade—stuffed with cotton and crowned with thick woollen hair.

As Sushi grew up, the box stayed with her until her marriage in 1964. At twenty, she was whisked away to the bustling city of Delhi, a far cry from the quiet charm of Almora. On a later visit home, she rediscovered her box in her steel trunk, filled with remnants of a girlhood left behind: salwar kameez (usually replaced with sarees after marriage), the brass box, and wedding gifts from her girlfriends. This time, she carried it with her to Delhi, where it found a place in her new home.

“I brought the box back to Delhi because I had developed a fondness for it. For many years, it sat as a decorative piece in my living room. My two young daughters would play with it, until eventually it was relegated to a dusty corner.”

The box continued its travels with Sushi and her family. From Delhi, it went to Bombay for sixteen years (1971–1987), then to Guwahati for six years (1987–1993), and finally back to Delhi (1993–2019), where it was tucked away behind glass-shelved display cabinets- rarely opened once arranged.

Today, the box resides in Pune, along with Sushi. It was brought back into limelight by her younger daughter Anuradha, who found it darkened, bent, and worn from years of use in Delhi. She polished it clean, restoring some of its glow, and placed it in her drawing room as a reminder of her mother’s home and heritage. Now, it holds a place of pride in an army officer’s living room, admired by many at social gatherings.

The box that once carried the dreams of a young girl now carries the story of a life well lived. It remains a token of a brother’s love and the endurance of memory. As generations pass, people may forget, but the box will remember.