It is a dirty orange pouch with hand embroidered flowers. It is very small and, according to my mother, extremely gaudy. The tattered threads emerging from its insides tell a story of their own. This little object was given to me by my friend Manali, when I had just turned eleven years old. It was my first “purse”! I don’t know why, but I always felt that a purse made you “grown up” I was so pleased when I got it that everything precious I had went in to it. In the end it felt like a rock stuffed with petty objects, but for me it was my own little world.
Since both my parents work, I had to go often to my grandmother’s house which was four bus stops away from my house. Since they were at times too busy to drop me off, my mother decided that it was finally alright to let me travel to grandma’s place by the local bus service. Hearing this great “verdict” gave a me great sense of inexpressible pride. It was for me a sign that I had grown up and was capable of making my own decisions.
My first ticket was bought from the money in my “purse”. I felt so grown up. “Purse” in hand I proudly asked for a ticket and got out my one rupee from the tiny world in my hand. This pouch has given me a great sense of responsibility and the feeling that I am finally a “big girl”. Its been a source of security to me. Whenever I have held it in my hand, I have felt on top of the world.
Now of course my purse has been put away because it has finally reached its twilight years. I’d hate it, if something happened to it. I now have a leather purse but it hasn’t given me that feeling I got when I received that little pouch.
