There was a lot of hustle and bustle in the corner of the street where the famous door read, ’221b Baker Street.' Of course, it was not the entry or the exit of Sherlock Holmes and his paparazzi. It was the next door. A large parcel was being shifted to the house. The house that lay in the middle of a wide array of flowers and fruits in the yard. People shouted and made much of the occasion. It was Christmas and apparently, a relative of the family had sent a gift to the family. The entire family consisting of all the aunts and uncles, their daughters and daughters’ daughters, ripped the wrapper apart and lo! There emerged a shiny, lustrously varnished closet with intricate designs and carvings embossed to add beauty to it. The closet wasn’t vintage. It was created to celebrate the changing world, of the modern generation. The family gasped and sighed and ‘wowed’ and exclaimed with a sense of pride.

But a tiny figure parted away from the family, disinterested with the turn of events and hobbled upstairs. Upstairs, to a small dingy room that can clearly be called the store-room. There, this old woman, hobbled to the corner of the place and shoving some chairs and tables away, reveals a large closet after drawing away the curtain. The closet, so old yet fine lay untouched. Its ends were worn out, varnish scraped off, probably giving away itself to the ants and the termites. The woman wipes the dust off the handle which she sees has acquired a golden hue and opened its door. As if laced with a touch of the Narnia or Alice in Wonderland series, the woman looks inquisitively on the insides of the closet. She sighs and a drop of mixed emotions creeps from the side of her eyelid onto the floor.

Her mind was like that of the shut closet. Being unable to vent out her feelings to anyone, she had withstood the test of time. She was deaf and mute, had none to listen to but the old closet. She approached the closet because she knew that the closet was just like her, physically present but mentally absent in the area. The closet too had its emotions but could not convey them. As a child, the closet opened to give her a pair of clothes that made her day. If it was an orange dress that she got that day, her day was as bright as the orange color. A grey sweater, then a dull and a boring day. She could communicate well with the closet, the shut closet. Added to her inability to speak and hear, she was old. “Old age,” they say, “is a curse.” The fruits of her success were being relished by her children who have now ignored her and deemed her to be useless and irritating. She had given everything she had now and had nothing more to give. She knew that her children would realize their mistakes one day when they look at the current ‘new’ closet and say, “this closet was once new.” After all, every single person, one day, would be a ‘shut closet’ forever too. Old, forgotten and unaware of the material world, she was ready to enter the immaterial world for life. Already a shut closet, she knew that all the health, wealth in the world had made her children dismiss her like the old and the forgotten closet and embrace their current stature. She covered the closet with a curtain and waited for the day to come when she would be covered too!