Keychains are wonderful. Yeah, I practice cagophily. I have been collecting keychains from the age of nine. As of now, I’ve collected about fifty keychains and more. I love all my keychains.

I love displaying my keychains to others. Well, as somebody said, owner’s pride is neighbor’s envy. All my keychains are displayed with great pride and affection in my room.

All but one. My most prized possession, tucked inside a soft pouch in my table. When I’m down in thee dumps or need inspiration, I take this round key ring out. The cold metal gleams in the dark. Yes. My most prized possession is the key ring (formerly keychain), which belonged to my grandfather.

My grandfather, through proxy, was in the service of the Indian Air Force as an engineer. He came from poor backgrounds, his father having died when he was fourteen. My grandpa had to quit school to make the ends of his family meet. And he had a huge family.

He had worked hard. And the fruits of his labour were reaped. From Italy to Switzerland, gramps went everywhere. By the time his first two granddaughters were born, my family was rolling in moolah (compared to the economic conditions of the 80’s).

My gramps turned 80 in 2008. To honour all octogenarians who were in the Indian Air Force, my grandpa was awarded this very keychain, an airplane model containing a clock, and a medal.

In 2010, he passed away. Unknown to me, he had left this keychain to me, knowing my love for keychains. And this is the very first keychain I collected.

Thanks, gramps.

For Writing 101, Day Twenty.




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