One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I firmly believe in this saying after having watched TV series such as Baggage Battles, Storage Wars, Cash in the Attic and other similar offerings.

It is amazing how one can possess precious items without realising their value. Sometimes these are kept out of sentimental attachment while others lie forgotten in an old box in the garage or attic.

I watch enviously as owners display antique chairs or dressers bequeathed to them by a grandmother or grandaunt. This is one of those times I wish my parents had not run away from their homes to get married, cutting off all ties with family. Who knows what precious heirlooms lurked in my grandparents’ cupboards which could have been handed down to me.

As if that loss weren’t bad enough, my father chose to join the army. This meant many moves that entailed disposing of clutter on a regular basis. What my parents never realised is that what they regarded as trash might be viewed as priceless objets d’art many years later.

I console myself with the fact that what they left behind for us is memories, but no one is going to pay me for recounting the past, are they?

What I find inexplicable is the kind of stuff people stow away in storage lockers in the US which they never claim. Years later, these go up for auction and all these potential gold mines are picked up by buyers for a song. As they sift through the contents of the lockers they come across some real gems.

Back home in India, there is always someone to whom you can pass on your possessions, whether it is old clothing or utensils or books. Recycling has been a way of life for ages there. So, the storage locker concept hasn’t quite caught on. Most people leave their belongings in their parents’ houses when they leave the country. They are sure they will be back in a few years’ time and can retrieve their goods. But the years go by with no signs of their return while the ancestral house remains full of boxes and cartons.

This was what happened when I moved here. I thought I’d be away for a couple of years, but am still here two decades on. The house where I left all my worldly belongings has since undergone many radical changes as well as change in ownership. So, I have no idea where my huge collection of books and knick-knacks presently reside. The last I saw of them was in boxes or cupboards, but these storage spaces have since seen new occupancy.

Stopgap measure

In the years gone by, siblings have also relocated several times within and outside the country. So, their extra trunks and cartons were sent to the parental home. Each one thought that this was merely a stopgap measure, but the rooms and garage are filled to the brim still.

Maybe the next time I go home I should sift through these. Who knows, I just might stumble upon a treasure. On second thoughts, this will be a futile exercise. I know my siblings too well. There is no way they will leave anything of value that belongs to them within easy reach.

Since there seems to be no hope of my making a lucrative discovery, perhaps I should start with collecting bric a brac and let the next generation benefit from my farsightedness.

So, the next flea market will see me among the hordes pouring in through the gates. I shall keep my eyes peeled for a bargain and not dismiss anything as worthless until I have searched or rummaged through the object or container. Nothing is to be left to chance.

I can feel my right palm itch. Perhaps it’s a lucky omen?