‘This was my sister’s’, my dad said as he opened a suitcase in our living room. I looked at the array of belongings in a suitcase and my eyes widened with a million questions.

I picked up a necklace and marveled at it. A few rings and bracelets sat beside it and I gawped at them too.

‘This was my other sister’s’, my dad said about a particular bracelet.

‘You didn’t meet her. She never came here and died young’.

Aged 12, over 20 years ago, sitting in my living room, looking into a suitcase filled with jewellery, books, photo albums, clothing and trinkets, it was like finding treasure – for my dad, who came from India in the 1970s it was unlocking memories of his family who were no longer with us.

It’s the only thing he had of some of them.

This morning, I was saddened to read reports

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