I finally unpacked the suitcases completely, and as they stood there to be tucked away, Teddy jumped onto them and sat there.

It’s been some time I haven’t touched it. Max’s Teddy. Max’s favourite toy.

There used to be rounds of games as I pulled out the suitcases, or, pushed them away. I liked to cheer Max up by throwing Teddy high up to the ceiling. Max raised his head and widened his eyes, all excited, forgetting about the sorrow brought out by the sight of the suitcases. Then when I came back home, showered by his many kisses, I also threw Teddy up to celebrate my return to him. Those were the moments. Teddy has survived, only that he sits all the time at the corner with a sullen face, angry to be ignored.

I have come back, again. I put away the suitcases, thinking that in a few months’ time, I will have to take them with me to visit my mother-in-law and my own mother, again. My belongings will be passing airports, going through the check-in counters, hearing different languages, be stored up on the planes and being circulated on luggage belts. And I will bring them back home. Teddy asked, “When will you stop going? Will you ever not come back again? Do we not play games anymore?”

We all go, and come back; and then we go again. Life puts your feet forward. But it doesn’t go on forever. One day, when we go, we shall not come back. That one day will surely come. It happened to Max. But Teddy, you will remain for thousands of years.

One can develop mixed sentiments for one’s luggage. It is your possession, but it has a certain subtle power over you for it provides the necessities between going and coming. It becomes a symbol of order. So you are afraid of losing it—-feel how you become relaxed when you see it appear on the luggage belt. It comes back to you to assure continuity in life. Is it what we want, a sense of continuity? Is this why we keep going, coming back, and going again?

What if the continuity is broken, by whatever reasons?

I put teddy back to his corner. Still Teddy is sullen.