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The Story goes;
Her face was gleaming with joy. She had just finished packing some clothes for her grandson. Before packing she rechecked the materials of the clothes once again. Her wrinkled hands could feel the pureness of cotton, perfect for the hot summers. She had bought it from the local shop. A much trusted shop. She had even brought the dresses for her daughter from the same shop, when she was young. The shopkeeper knew her well and gave her a good bargain on the clothes she bought.
The clothes were couriered, at the earliest. It was actually a surprise for her grandson. Her daughter has been complaining for quite sometime now, that despite of all the big malls, she was not able to find good quality cotton clothes for her son. Her son's cabinet was loaded with many clothes, but somehow that cottony feeling, for the hot summer was still missing.
The phone rang. She picked it up. It was from her daughter.
"Maa, you have bought such cute clothes for Sam. They are just perfect, exactly what I wanted for him. I feel like touching the clothes I used to wear during the summers. I love all of them. Thank you so much maa."
After sometimes, the phone disconnected. She was happy. In her imagination she could see her grandson wearing those, running around. He would be turning 4 very soon. And they would be joining him on his birthday. A much awaited and celebrated occasion for them. A break from their monotonous life. And she had already made plans what to present him on his birthday. And hopefully, he would love the pleasant surprise.
I don't know how much you can relate to this story. But, it has happened with me, so many times. From the time my son was born, my parents had scavenged the market to buy the best things for their grandson. They would spend hours in the market just to find that perfect piece. Then they would ring me up, tell the colors they have picked and reason for choosing that particular color, or watsapp me the picture and ask;
"Do you like it?
"Like it?? I loved them, loved every single one of them."
There's so much love in those clothes, shoes, sweaters, toys etc. that they have bought over the years, that nothing can be even closely compared to that. This is what I call, Pure handpicked love. And all those handpicked things are so close to my heart that even, now, when my son has outgrown them, I just can't part with them. I know over the years, their handpicked love would grow, but, somehow, I want to keep, as many as possible, as a sweet memory of their grandparents eternal love for their grandson.
You may call me a hoarder, and to tell you the truth, at times I do feel guilty of hoarding more than I should. But, somewhere deep down, my heart starts sinking, when I think that, they are not going to be by our sides forever, but their memory will, their love will. And these handpicked treasures, that we have been receiving year after year, would one day cease to come, and no matter how much I will want them, I won't get them. So, call me a hoarder, but, I have and I will, keep quiet a few of them. For the rest, I will find them a suitable place in some orphanage, where many other kids can be blessed with Pure Handpicked Love.