E-Paper
Spice of Life: Leftover buttons hold memories together
Once children leave home and there are no urgent meetings or important occasions for you or your spouse to attend, the leftover buttons lose their sheen and utility. They become occupants of the hidden corners of sewing baskets and forgotten drawers.
House cleaning requires getting rid of not only cobwebs but also unnecessary knick-knacks that we keep assembling throughout the year. Gift boxes that are too pretty to be discarded, fancy marriage invitations, receipts of goods purchased years ago, mobile chargers, electric cables, archaic earphones, and other such miscellaneous stuff finally bid adieu to the storage drawers. One such item that remains unnoticed in the deepest recesses of the storage units or boxes is the assortment of leftover buttons.
Buttons that accompany every new piece of clothing in small plastic pouches are carefully put inside sewing boxes or drawers so that they can be used when in need. Over the years, they stay neglected, waiting for the right opportunity to be used. These buttons become vestigial once the garment is no longer in use or is disposed of.
Many of us are in the habit of assembling these eclectic buttons in glass jars or cute plastic boxes, with the diligence of a lepidopterist, a scientist who collects specimens of butterflies or moths. The multi-hued buttons of different sizes and shapes are the prized possession of many a woman who promptly brandishes them at the most desperate times and acts as the saviour. These situations generally arise when your kids are school going and the one button that falls off the sleeve to play truant, needs to be replaced urgently, or when your husband has an important meeting to attend and he finds one missing from his favourite/lucky shirt. These are the moments when these tiny, inconspicuous, inconsequential leftover buttons salvage the situation and become unsung heroes.
But once children leave home and there are no urgent meetings or important occasions for you or your spouse to attend, these leftover buttons lose their sheen and utility. They become occupants of the hidden corners of sewing baskets and forgotten drawers. You come across them once in a while and try to connect them to their sartorial origins. Countless memories come flooding, reminding you of the times when these small and unassuming little things had held together vibrant blouses, crisp shirts, sturdy jeans and trousers, roguish shorts, elegant dresses, playful cardigans and officious-looking coats. These leftover buttons have a million stories to narrate. Each one whispering tales of garments worn and moments cherished.
On a lighter note, I sometimes imagine that in the button parliament, hierarchy is stitched into existence. The white, ivory, and black buttons reign supreme, perched on the throne of indispensability. They dictate the terms of fashion, while the reds, navies, greens, pinks, oranges, and the rest, though vibrant, linger in the shadows like mere understudies. These colourful rebels may flirt with the spotlight, but it’s the monochromatic trio that orchestrates the grand narrative. It’s a chromatic power play, where the grayscale elite rules, and the kaleidoscopic multitude dances in perpetual subordination.
Buttons are master storytellers. They connect the threads of the past, binding together the fabric of personal histories. In their quiet presence, they become eloquent narrators of the tales etched into the seams of time.
The writer is an associate professor of English at SD College, Ambala Cantt and can be reached at sonrok15@gmail.com
