Photographs are a window to our past.
| Photo Credit: Getty Images/iStockphoto
Those days, when colour photography was not popular, black-and-white pictures of my ancestors and elders, most of whom were dead before I was born, hung everywhere on the walls of the living room, caged behind cloudy glass. Learning about them from my parents and hearing their names frequently mentioned in conversations gave me the impression that the dead were still alive. Photographs of different sizes in wooden frames gave each wall of the living room a distinct pattern.
Every year, during Christmas, when the walls were whitewashed, we would remove the photos and replace them after letting go of the silverfish that had made the portraits their abodes, and thoroughly clean the glass and frames. It was also the time for getting a closer glimpse of the images and recollecting memories. After the whitewash, some photos would change places to make a new pattern on the walls and give a facelift to the living room.
Some portraits would lean forward from the wall, suspended from nails and resting on wooden frames, giving the impression that the individuals depicted in them were keenly observing what was going on around them, while others would be perfectly still, their subjects frozen in time. The cavity behind the portraits would be the resting place for old letters and wedding invitations.
Visitors to our family would frequently spend hours poring over the photographs, reminiscing about the old days, and recollecting events in which the pictures were taken.
There was an old clock hanging in the living room amid the pictures, its pendulum swinging back and forth with a gentle tick-tock that seemed to echo through the stillness of the room. Amidst the black-and-white images of our elders, the clock served as a constant reminder of the passage of time.
Every hour, its chimes would ring out, breaking the silence of the room and marking the passage of yet another hour. Far from being an annoyance, the sound of the clock became a comforting presence in the house. It was a reminder that life was moving forward, but that the memories of our ancestors and the moments we shared with them would always be with us, captured forever in those black-and-white photographs that lined the walls.
Those living walls may be a thing of the past now, replaced by digital frames and online galleries, but the memories the sepia-toned images created in our hearts will always remain. They are a window into our past, a reminder of where we came from and the people who shaped us into who we are today.
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