There always has been an undercurrent of struggle between love and loyalty. Love and responsibility. Love and duty. Love and family. The sad truth is not many can see that there is very little difference between those words. Love is duty, and family, and loyalty, and yet, for some incomprehensible reason, we find ourselves torn by the perceived differences.
This is Tanzila Anis’ tangible memory. A ring of gold that reminds her there are no ifs, ands or buts when it comes to unconditional love.
“What is the most significant, memory-laden, gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession?” - Andrew Kaufman
1. Tell me a little about yourself. Something that gives me a sense of what you’re about:
I am a hoarder, of things, people, memories and mostly emotions. Everything is a strongly attached emotion to me. And that’s why leaving or throwing away anything is difficult for me. I form bonds and feel bad when they are cut, because I don’t realize that these bonds were never tied to be cut in the first place. Oh and I am a crier. Came pre-packaged when I bought the hoarder quality from the supermarket.
2. What is the most significant, memory-laden gushingly sentimental object currently in your possession? (It could be ANYTHING. Try to think of the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s usually it.)
This ring which my mother got made for me.
3. What’s the story behind it? (Don’t worry about being judged or about what anyone will think. This is YOUR memory and it’s precious.)
My mother promised she’d get me a diamond ring when I graduated from college. So I got this. I wore it proudly and always flaunted it because it was the first piece of gold jewellery that was truly mine.
This year in January, after 2 long and painful years of trying to convince my parents to let me get married to the guy I want to, I finally went ahead and got married to him. There was so much drama attached to it that I had left the house 2 days before the court date and was living with a friend. I did not expect my parents to come to court. I was hardly dressed as a bride. My father came with my sister. He brought flowers. My sister gave me a little red box and told me my mother sent it.
My mother-who was so against the boy, his family, my having to leave my job and my city, my moving to a small town-that same Ammi had sent me the first piece of jewellery I would own as a married woman. It was the same ring.
I haven’t taken it off since and it is still the only other piece of jewellery I own as a married woman. It is a reminder to me that no one loves me like my parents do, The fact that they were right about a few things about this marriage is a sardonic twist, but it still reminds me more of happy things than sad.