Lost And Found

Gillian slumped back on the large brown sofa, exhausted. The doors of her wooden closet were left wide open, with the clothes hurled outside and spread on the maroon carpet that she had purchased in her recent trip to India. She had spent the last two hours frantically looking for her favourite red woolen scarf. It was not in the laundry bag, which had been turned upside down in her quest. It was not amongst the washed clothes either, which had been piled on at one end of her bed, all waiting to be ironed and folded since the past three days. There was no way she could afford dry cleaning this time of the year, so there was no chance of it being sent off for grooming either. It was nowhere to be found. Her little apartment had, by then, been filled with clutter created as a bye-product of her search. A feeling of defeat and sadness engulfed Gillian.

She tried to remember the last time she wore the scarf. It was probably at the party Robbie had thrown, she thought. A lady at the party had admired the colourful beads that lined either ends of the scarf. But that was more than a month back. Was it possible that she had not worn it after that? Where did she keep it once she came home? She had no memory of it. Exasperated, Gillian dialed her mother’s number on the telephone.

“Hello”, her mother answered.

“Hi Mom, it’s me”, Gillian said.

“Gillian! You haven’t answered our calls since the last 3 days! Are you okay? I had to call your landlady to find out about you. She said you have gone into an exile of sorts. What is the matter?”

“Nothing. I had been tied up with some work. I cannot find my red beaded scarf. Do you remember it?”, Gillian asked, coming to the point immediately.

“Of course! It is the one you are wearing in your profile picture on Facebook, right? Well, it must be there. Have you checked the closet properly?”

“I have looked everywhere. It has disappeared.”

“Well, it can’t possibly disappear! It must be there. It is always there.”

It was true. Her mother had the knack of recovering lost items from conspicuous places. Irrespective of how much time Gillian would spend looking for an item, her mother would invariably find them in a jiffy. It was a quality Gillian had failed to inherit. She missed having her mother around.

“Anyway, let it be. I will simply have to presume that it is gone”, Gillian replied.

“Oh, don’t be sad honey. Come home for Christmas, we will cheer you up”, her mother said.

Gillian heaved a deep sigh.

“Not this time Mom. I told you already, I can’t come. I need to sort out some things. I will come home for summer, may be.”

“Hmm”, her mother replied. “Okay, I will not push. Let me know if you change your mind.” 

Gillian could feel the drop in her mother’s tone.

“It is a long journey Gillian. Do not let unimportant baggage weigh you down. I hope you find your red scarf. Make yourself some tea, you will feel better. Take care darling. Merry Christmas”. Her mother ended the call.

Gillian kept the phone aside and looked out of her blue oval window. The holiday season had just begun, and the streets were lined up with thick white snow. It seemed, as if she was staring into a snow-globe, which had numerous occupants. Or perhaps, to the people outside, she was the one inside the snow-globe, reminiscent of a doll which had stopped dancing, because the owner had forgotten to change the batteries. 

She decided to take her mind off the search and get some fresh air. As she put on her coat and stepped outside, an ice-cold breeze greeted her. Evening was about to set in and a sudden chill had descended outside. There was a quaint little café on the opposite side of the street. The owner had put up a big sign which read ‘mini muffins complementary with hot chocolate’. Hawkers beside the café had laid out a spread of Christmassy articles for sale – cone-shaped red caps, second-hand boots, greeting cards, miniature elves and other decorative items. A little girl trudged past the hawkers, dragging a Christmas tree which was much large in comparison to her own size. Her father, walking beside her, volunteered to help. But she refused, insisting she would do it herself, taking her time to carefully carry the tree with her. Gillian walked past the hawkers, towards the bookstore cum library at the corner. She watched a couple walk out of the store, looking rather pleased with their purchase, wrapped in a brown paper package. It must be a gift for a loved one, Gillian thought.  

Outside the shop, children had made snow-men of varied shapes and sizes, each holding little hanging card-boards that displayed names of children’s books. They had decorated the snow-men with scrap items – small twigs, discarded buttons, old hats and the likes. Gillian would have made one too, she thought, had she been home. Her attention fell on a small snow-man carrying a card-board which read ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’. Somehow, he looked familiar. But she could not lay a finger on what it was, which made him stand out. She looked carefully, observing every detail of the snow-man - his crooked nose, the unmatched buttons and his tattered hat. Then, like a lightning, it struck her. Carefully wrapped around the neck of the snow man, was a red woolen scarf with colorful beads at either end. It was her red scarf! But, how could it be?

She paused for a moment, trying to understand how it had ended up there. Did she give it away by mistake when she cleaned the closet? Or did she wear it during one of her visits to the library inside the store, and forget it on the reading table? Maybe the store owners waited for somebody to claim it, for quite some time. But she had not stopped by since the last one month. Naturally, it must have been given away to the children’s home down the road, along with used books, clothes and other items. She had shut herself out for so long, that it all seemed like a blur. She stood there, staring at the snow-man, engulfed in her thoughts. The breeze continued to caress her face, as if whispering to her – “It is just a scarf. Let it go.” All through the time, the snow-man kept smiling at her.

Suddenly, there was a tap on her shoulder. Broken away from her thoughts, Gillian turned to find a lady, standing there with a little girl.

“Hi”, she said in a timid voice. “Can you please click a photograph for us? One with the snow-men”, she asked, offering a camera to Gillian.

“Oh sure”, Gillian replied.

“Mama, I want to stand beside the snow-man with the red scarf”, the little girl said, tugging the lady by the hand.

“Of course, you will honey”.

Gillian clicked a few photographs, all of which, she thought, came out beautifully. The little girl and her mother thanked her, and she watched them disappear down the road, holding hands.

As she turned to walk back, Gillian thought that going home for Christmas would not be a bad idea after all. She could perhaps drive down tomorrow, when the skies are clear. She felt somewhat relieved, knowing that the scarf now belonged to the little snow-man outside the book store. What was lost, had been found.