I was trying to prepare for a potential "behavioural" interview and realized that 5 years is a long time in erasing minute details of what you did and how. Not the bigger details are erased, like the name of a research project or how I or others went about it; but I couldn't remember how much each segment or a project was developed by me each day and such other things; whether I had faced little problems along the way. Somehow, each of those research projects in my years of working as an RA is striking me as a big jumbled up mass. Probably I'm aging or probably they didn't matter to me.... as that's how memories are supposed to be stowed in our brains. We don't usually remember what happened each day in the past year but we do remember the random moment 5 years back when we liked some brilliant bag of a random co-passenger or that striking face in the escalator or how we missed someone on hearing a certain song or how we were late for a certain day at work or even how we felt the moon was walking with us when we used to walk as kids and look up in the sky and so on....
And then, I came across these:
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Pictures that brought back my whole childhood....pictures that provide warmth and memories of almost living in our little ambiotic sacs; when it was okay to stare at these while flipping through the newspaper or "Anandamela" or while it was definitely not okay to gaze at them in our restricted sessions of "Anandalok", "Stardust" and the likes. The "advertise" before the Saturday or Sunday movies when TV equalized Doordarshan were always preferred palatable pleasures, especially when one had to start studying for classwork due on Mondays; in addition to them, however, these print media advertisements were always gazed upon starry eyed.....on the stars in them.
And even then, I had lost, on my memories that is, the sooo-privileged-to-be-so dewy eyed Anuradha Patel, of being associated with anything else other than "Mera kuchh samaan" or ...Ijazaat....or her being the granddaughter of Ashok Kumar. But here she is, making me wonder how did I even forget that this toothpaste existed once upon a time? Well, to paraphrase Nietzsche (with all the due apologies to be used in such profane situations like this)...some things do not come to mind when we want them; but, when they do.....they touch us with their irrevocable molten comforting powers.
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As "Celine" once said, "Memories are wonderful things, if you don't have to deal with the past." A dear friend of mine always used to get a little rough whenever I would be nostalgic; get nostalgic while I'm miles away from home. Because memories are not supposed to bring anything to you....except the past, which is what you can't have. Or also because, they lose their meaning...."when you think of love, as something new..."
I wonder though....I haven't been able to forget a single person with whom I've interacted, or communicated for a day or two, or even for a minute or two. For better or for worse. Probably I've forgotten their names....their last names, but not them. And these pictures bring them back to me....from the dead...from the past. Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing....I, being a 31 year old, do not care anymore. For me, they create a rustle of moments so precious that I can hardly let go. One can kiss them, but can't say goodbye....at least, not me.
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1 comment:
Loved your writing as usual. There are so many things that I remember from my childhood...more of then than of now. Every new element in life those days brought excitment and adventure along with it. These days, it is fast paced, superficial and mundane. Neither technology nor materialistic elements or emotions attached to anything have that value added to it, like it was in the 70s or 80s. I often think how life would shape in the next 20 years, or is it worth waiting to see our future unfold with the bag of old memories, or are we sort of stuck with our good feelings and memories due to change of place...how do we just keep going? Well atleast some of us feel the need to share such thoughts ...others don't. Keep writing. R
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