Daraz (closet)
My mom has a closet which is vintage. It is made of a cream yellow wood which is etched with brown lines and florals. It is a two part door and has keys. The keys are my mom’s most prized possession. Only she knows where she hides the keys.
As a child, whenever mami opened her closet, all my siblings would come together. Leaping with joy, screaming each other’s names, announcing to each other that she is opening her closet. With all that excitement we would ask her , “Mom, what’s inside that box? Could you open it please? And what’s inside that intriguing and fascinating bag? I want to take a look.” It would be like an auction.The closet was filled with different recycled chocolate boxes that have come from abroad. She uses them as storage. With time we had learned all the color codes and different sections that belonged to specific things.Behind the rack that hung the clothes lay the deeper layers of other stuff which were more important like camera and jeweleries.
Inside those bags and boxes were countless memories, belongings, souvenirs, and stories. Sometimes a river of memories would flood through the collection of thick photo albums, and other times collection of materials that were broken. My mom saves them all for the day when they can be mended or turned into something beautiful.
And within the closet were also the broken dreams and aspirations of both my mom and dad. All the things my mother had preserved with care and love towards him and their marriage. Past, present, and future—an endless time within those doors.
During the late-2000’s, my grandparents were visiting my kaka(uncle) who was in America pursuing his higher studies. When they returned from their trip they had brought back a small bottle filled with seawater and colorful stones. Nepal being a landlocked country, the sea water held so much importance to all of us. That very sea water has carried me across seven seas, towards the fulfillment of my own dreams. The water in that little glass bottle has not dried yet. Even now it quietly rests in a corner of the closet. Even when Kaka has passed away.
On some days, she would slip out my father’s shadow, hidden in her pockets and behind closed doors, and show them to me. My mother, with her aching heart, would cry out—asking if I could erase the red lipstick of another woman, asking for held to mend their marriage. I had no answers of my own—only the silence of my father to carry. And with her rage she would claim, “Your father is a worthless man.” When her heart grew sour from the pockets her favorite leather bag, she would slip out the picture of his first marriage. For I did not have answers to her aching heart, I chose to agree with whatever she would say, as a promise that I would always be by her side no matter what.
On the brighter side, the closet held an abundance of beauty and creativity: a variety of hair clips, jewelry, makeup, pencils, stitching and crocheting materials, crafting materials—whatever we needed, she held it all. All things meant for creating, beautifying, nurturing and mending.
And then, of course, the tokens of beauty—clips, hairbands, every little thing—all tucked into my mother’s drawer. Rows of sunglasses sparkled there, in every style imaginable: men’s, women’s, even unisex. Bags gathered from home and abroad, perfumes too, of designer brands, found their place among her treasures.
The closet removed all shadows of my heart and adorned it with beauty!!
