This is my silver key chain with bells, the bunch of keys that I keep clipped on my waist. Most Indian women (at least the old-fashioned ones) have a keychain like this, clipped onto the sari. It was the ultimate symbol of a bossy and efficient housewife who ran her household like a tight ship. It was much cherished and passed on like a baton by a mother-in-law to her daughter-in-law, signifying a transfer of power.
My key chain has no such provenance. I bought it with the money my husband gifted me the first Diwali we celebrated as a couple simply because I was always impressed by this jingle-jangle of bells and had always wanted a symbol of power. Nor am I under the illusion that my presence makes my minions quake, since I have no minions either!
But my key chain with its tiny bells was a great early warning system for my little girls who used to stay up long after their stipulated bedtime of 8 p.m., playing in their room while Hubby and I were out for the night. They were warned of dire consequences if they didn’t put off the lights at 8, but happily overlooked it, knowing that they had almost till midnight to stay awake. Also, they knew that the minute they heard the tinkling sound at the door, they could quickly jump into bed, pull up the covers and shut their eyes tight (pretending to be fast asleep) while I looked in on them and kissed them good night.
It’s been quite a while since these bells worked as an EWS because the girls have now grown up. We have become old and hardly go out till after midnight. And many of the bells have fallen off.
So the poor bells lie waiting silently, somewhere at the bottom of my bag, in hope that one day, they will magically perch on my sari and feebly jingle, warning the grandchildren who are staying over the night, that Granny is home and it’s time to call their shennanigans quits.
Ciao,
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