My father worked as a manager. He carried his files in a suitcase to the office. In the 2000s, he was going to the office in a car, carried a suitcase, wear a tie to conferences. I used to wait for my Dad every evening because of the junk food, the ice creams he bring me every day. I am not supposed to eat it before dinner. My mom instructed. ‘You’ll skip the dinner,’ she reads my mind before I scheme out plans.
The moment I hear the horn, I rush to the gate and look at the beaming lights through the gate. Dad enters in. He quickly parks the car leaving enough space for him to open the door and slip through. I used to open the rear door and look for a new thing other than the usual suitcase and few diaries.
Along with other covers, I carry the suitcase home. I leave the suitcase at its corner and gorge to check out what Dad got. Sometimes it’s vanilla ice cream sometimes, it’s snack or puffs or any delicious stuff.
Few routines make you. Carrying the suitcase home, I often used to enact him, imagining myself as a big manager. I fancied myself in suits, attending meetings. "I will wear only suits when I grow up." I used to assert to my Dad.
The suitcase was one more fancy thing I always wanted to handle. In 2002-4, Dad got a shining dark red colored suitcase, replacing the slim rectangular grey suitcase. I eyed it and said, "I want it. I will use it."
From then on, I used it. At first, I used to cut some newspaper cuttings and put all the papers in the suitcase. Years passed, I received the first letter from a close friend during my schooling. I treasured it. I began treasuring all my slam books in it. Letters, greeting cards, souvenirs, I had them all in the suitcase. The grey suitcase became a happy memory box.
It is nearly twenty years old and the trend has changed. My dad got promoted to various roles. He does not carry a suitcase anymore. He rarely gets any files home. I still use the suitcase Dad has left for me 20 years ago. ‘ANAND’ it’s written with stickers but I am the owner of the suitcase for 20 years.