At the age of five, I fell in love with a lunchbox at the first sight. It was gifted to me by my paternal grandmother when I started going to school. It was indeed unique, triangular in shape, chic, sleek  and compact. This lunchbox made of stainless steel would fit in perfectly well into the pocket of my schoolbag. I eagerly waited to hear the bell to announce the lunch recess at school to take this lunchbox out from my bag. I did not actually bother about what my mother had packed in it. All I used to do was to gleefully admire my coveted possession while munching my lunch.

More than four decades back I considered this lunchbox as the dearest of all the assets that I owned. One can imagine the other assets that  a primary school girl would possess in that era: schoolbag, pencil box, water bottle, umbrella, dolls etc. Though inanimate I had unknowingly developed a special bonding with my lunchbox. It might sound strange to think so now, but it did happen at that point of my life.

One evening, back from school, I opened my bag to take out my lunchbox and place it back in the kitchen.  My heart missed a beat when I could find only the lid of my lunchbox in my bag. I dropped everything out from my bag to search for the box only to realise that I have lost it. I could not wait to reach school the next day to find my box hoping that I might have dropped it on the way or in my classroom. Goddess of luck did not bother to favour me. I was forced  to accept that I have lost it forever. I don’t think anybody at home understood the agony of that little girl’s heart on losing her beloved owndom.

My mother effortlessly switched to another lunchbox for me thereafter.
But I could not easily accept that  alternative. I hated eating my lunch from another lunchbox and it looked so alien to me. It was kind of a lost-love-feeling for me. Never could I replace my love with anything else. I mourned for days together and chanted all the prayers that I knew to find what I lost.

Months passed by; my lunchtime morose in the absence of my loved one. I could sense a caustic feeling deep within me every time I saw the lid of my lunchbox lying on a shelf in our kitchen. It was an absolute unwholesome sight to me.

Much later, one Sunday evening my mother sent me  to a nearby shop to buy something . The shopkeeper was quite known to us as we used to buy things very often from his shop. He used to sell stationary items and also sold fresh lime juice. I had no idea what was in store for me when I reached his shop that evening. I asked him for what my mother had sent me and while I was waiting for him to pack, my eyes stumbled on something which I could not believe. Voila, my lost lunchbox, lying on a table where he used to prepare lime juice with some slices of lemon in it. The moment I realised the truth my body took an about turn, my legs kicked the accelerator and ran as fast as I could as my heart joyfully leapt with my steps. I crash landed in the kitchen, swept out the lid of my lunchbox from the shelf and hurried in my fastest pace back to the shop. I wanted to claim my property with solid evidence so that I left no room for him to deny my possession on the box that was in his custody. Gasping and sweating I rushed into the shop, the shopkeeper staring at me in dismay, having no clue of why I vanished all of a sudden.

I proudly presented the lid in front of him and claimed my possession on the box. He quite graciously handed over the box to me mentioning that he once found it lying on the road near our house. I thanked  him for returning my asset and delightfully returned  home to share the good news with my parents. Undoubtedly that was one of the happiest days in my life till date. It might appear trivial now but at that tender age even such mundanity brought tons of joy. Happy days followed with my lunchbox back in my hands.

As I grew up, my tummy demanded much more than what my favourite lunchbox could offer me . Hesitantly I had to carry a bigger lunchbox in later years. But never did my family abandon my precious possession. This lunchbox still gracefully adorns my mother’s kitchen.

I also discovered the source of inheritance of the legacy of this love for lunchbox in me. My septuagenarian mother has this rare trait of preserving lunchboxes. She still fondly uses the lunchbox that she used while in college. I am fortunate to rest assured that my lunchbox will remain safe in her hands forever.