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"As usual, an exasperated Rittika stood in the middle of her brother's room watching him pack away his stuff into his luggage. All this for an office trip? How did he manage to even get employed?
Further rattling off her thoughts, she sighed for the umpteenth time. She watched her brother fidget about with his things without much focus, while she stepped inside his room.
"Hey Ashish, are you almost done packing up?" she asked.
"No, don't bother me. I'm in the middle of sorting out the usual clutter present in this room," he replied while angrily slapping his knee.
She rolled her eyes. "All I said was that you won't be needing this stuff for your office trip."
She gestured her arms at the half packed luggage. "This is what you never have the sense to throw out, but you need it for the office."
"Well I don't want to go to office without this stuff."
"You don't want to go to office at all?"
"No, of course not. I'm talking about these."
"The clothes you're wearing are more than sufficient for the day. Your wardrobe doesn't need this mess. Besides, what is the point of not throwing it out?" she argued. She was growing irritated at his lack of sense.
"The point is that I am not ditching something that I no longer need. I am not ditching memories that are dear to me."
"Memories, really? You're talking about ancient clothes which you haven't worn for so long. How can you still consider them memorable? That must be one of the clearest giveaways of your fetish for clutter."
"I don't have the fetish for clutter. I am still mourning the loss of the past, but I realize that the past was good. I am no longer crying, because I know that's what made me who I am today. They helped me become what I am. I recognize the good in spoiling myself with memories. They are an unparalleled aid in moments of self-pity, the coolest friend to have when I'm feeling down. So I will keep them."
"You are sounding like an imbecile. Can you please just listen to yourself?"
"I only wanted to prove that these are not just old clothes. They are symbolic. They speak of my past, of who I always wanted to grow up into. They are the cloths which once fit me, which once made me happy. Can't you ever miss your childhood?"
"Yes I can but I visit my memory often enough to make me feel the feeling. But grown men don't have any memories from which to soothe themselves, so little need for these clothes."
He stalked in a circle a couple of times, in a measured deliberation. The gears in his head were in a churn. "I know you're right Ritti," he said, raising a hand in a gesture of peace. The light in his eyes aroused the curiosity in her.
"Sure?" she said.
"I'll throw them out. In fact, I'll throw out the entire wardrobe," he said.
"Wow, really?"
"But not before I take photographs of it. So I can cherish my memories."
"You're really serious about this?"
"Absolutely. Hey Ritti, can you help me pack up these clothes? It is a lot of work and my study is a mess, you know."
"Why of course, why wouldn't I?" She was ecstatic. Her brother was finally agreeing to her.
"Great. Let's get started."
Rittika and Ashish worked together to throw out the clothes and clean up the wardrobe. Ashish did the main bulk of the work, while Rittika took pictures. She set up a camera and focused on the picture of the clothes that were strewn everywhere.
She contemplated how it would feel to be free of this clutter. To get rid of the clothes he considered to be precious at one time. How did he feel now about the person they belonged to? How did he feel about his past? She wished she knew.
She stood there irritated. It is not as if he needed my help. And I have a lot of work to do too! But I guess I have to do this, for my own sanity. This is not just my brother's free pass to clutter his way through life, it's a chance for me to preserve the last shred of my sanity.