Down memory lane.
By Deepak M. Rao

The last time I saw someone use a paperweight was close to seven years ago at my grandpa's place. It used to lie in a corner of the table, primly seated on a coaster. Every time any of us even went close to it, a pair of eyes would stare at us through thick glasses with a ferocious intensity that one would deem impossible from a person who has seen a goodish 80 summers. While, like every other article on his table, it commanded its share of respect from the old relation who owned it, with time we began to see it through the looking glass of reverence. As we grew, so did our reverence for that piece of stationery. As seasons fled past us, everything around us shrank in our mind's world. The house which had looked like a bungalow, with enough room to allow more than twenty kids to hide comfortably for a game of hide and seek, became a mere 1200 sq. feet apartment. The roofs which had seemed so high could now be reached with just a little jump. The passages that were then never-ending could now be covered with just a few long strides. Every single image formed during childhood was distorted now and this never failed to lend the aspect a feeling of melancholy and loss.

However, there was one thing that never lost its place or shine - physically or otherwise. The paperweight. Still lying on the same table at the same corner on the same coaster, the paperweight remained in its place of eternal charm. No one ever dared to move it. For us, it represented something that had defied the passage of time. No other article ever took us back to our childhood days as this one piece of glass. Not the toy aeroplane we played with, not the wooden bat we used to play cricket with and not the rubber balls on the terrace that had been thrown there by angry elders. The small air bubble shaped in the form of a smiley still smiled gently at all who cared to look at it closely. The little specs of blue and pink that were scattered throughout still seemed to add as much colour to the article as it did a few tens of years ago. The one scratch on the side of the paperweight reminded us of that fateful night when one of us had dropped it and received a sound tongue lashing from grandpa.