Dadima's Ring

Dhwani Vij

I was given a ring

By my ma

When I moved away from her.

“This belonged to your dadi” she said,

“She wore it everywhere."

Yes. Even when her world shrank to her bed.

“I know, ma. I can’t picture her hand without it.”

At that moment,

The moment ma gave it to me,

I put it on my finger.

I should have waited.

I wasn’t ready for the ring to fit my hand so completely.

Who is ready for their hand to resemble those who perished?

Ma looked at me,

I looked at the ring.

I saw golden clay dug out of the earth

Prematurely.

Travelling through places I haven’t seen

Moving through hands, lands and homes

To reach my finger.

Soft metal heated up to unbearable temperatures

Hammered relentlessly

Till it gave up

And was bent.

Dunked in cold water

Many times

So that when it finally came up

To catch its breath,

It would be enough 

Just to catch its breath would be enough.

Small stones tearing into its body

Making space

Settling down

Till you can’t see the gold anymore.

Except when you take it out of your finger

And it rests,

On the bedside table,

Its belly exposed,

To the small bulb in the room,

Catching all its light,

The ring surpassing the sun in its brightness.

“You take it now” ma said,

“I have worn it enough."

She smiled.

“And see? It fits you.”

And since that day,

Every day I pray.

I wish

I wish for something small

I want the ring to fall

Off my hands.

For me to not carry

The weight of this 

This this -

My grandmother

My mother

And me

We have not seen

What this carrying has done

To our fingers.

Let the ring lie down

I say.

On my bedside table

Let it catch the sun on its turn.

The scalding ring

Let my room burn.

*********

Objects of Our Affection is a series exploring our connections to the furniture and objects that make our spaces home. Through stories of tables, chairs, and that odd-shaped thing only you love, we celebrate the inanimate pieces that hold memory and witness our lives.

If you'd like to contribute your own story to this series, we'd love to hear from you. Micro-essays, poems, reflections, and fragments welcome. Write to us at hellothadi@gmail.com. Word limit 400.