glister

Today, An Inventory of Treasures.
Everything, she prefaces, is two. One for you, and one for your sister.
Even the man in the shop knows now. For years, when we buy,
Always gold and everything two.

And so we begin.
From within a locked section of the locked steel almirah,
A faded, peeling red leather box is clicked open.
A blue velvet pouch parts velcro hesitantly: One Gold Necklace.
And then Two.
And Two pairs of Earrings to match,
Two Bangles.
Several bangles. Thirteen Gold Bangles.
[Two sets of Four, one Pair, three Singles.
A picnic party.]

In between, a few boxes of worthless multi-coloured, coloured beads.
She runs thick, stiff, crinkled fingers over them,
Settles them like she settles all the others, but a little defiantly.
Looks close, pushing up her spectacles and peering through the bottom.
'-I used to wear these. Then I stopped wearing, kept everything for you all.
But when I wore, I used to wear these.'
And then they are put away- 'No, you don't need to write them down-
These aren't worth anything.'
'Several chains of beads' I obstinately write, at the bottom of the page, in small.

From one little box, she pulls out two coins.
'Gold Coins', she says, with a glint.
A five-rupee coin, 2009, and a ten Euro-cent piece.
‘But these aren't gold, these are just coloured-‘ I cut into
Her grim, satisfied telling me that these could be made pendants of, someday.
What? she says, and pushes up spectacles, wipes sweat from her nose, peers close.
Maybe, she says, chuckles a little, self-indulgently, reluctantly.
Puts them back in the box, softly puts it aside.
Later on, repacking,
She puts that one back in too.
I point it out, but she smiles, an appeal.
Says Let it be, maybe even gives it a fond parting look.
Clicks the box shut, I help her put it away, lock it up.
All that glisters.