Is looking back at your past a really fruitless exercise as we constantly keep hearing? Or Is it an hapless action reserved for the lazy old agers? How much I don't know the answer for those questions but I do know people who emphasize that they don't do the above are a bunch hypocrites travelling the first class. A person who doesn't keep memories of his past (physical and emotional) are those ones who are just plain incapable of it. Living in the present is just a myth - a beautiful colored capsule taken by people to paint a mirage of a rainbow to say you lead a happy today. Or that's how it seems for me.
Invariably when I bide my time to clutter free of the present day clutter, I dig deep to my forgotten moments of nostalgia for that serene peace. And most of times, it's a rapid chemical reaction of hundreds of happy hormones across my body. Probably it's just the rejuvenation of an imaginary younger me, however much I try to avoid that thought to cram into me. As I escape the humdrums of the uncertain present and safely ensconce myself into a known script, it's just fabulously surprising to believe your mind actually craves for is Not a Sehwag but a solid Dravid.
Shoulder length curled-up hair of the bard you played in school, with the innocence through the entire script worried about the journey and never about the applause at the end. Or when I suddenly get transported to smell the perfume of the silken hair of the girl as you bend your knees behind her in the attendance line, when you get pulled out for disobedience. The scent of Mangal Pandey bravado you put on for defying orders outweigh the unrealized humiliation. Sometimes I get drawn into the innocent splendor of moments which led up to a first kiss, and the knighthood obtained after it in narrating it to inquisitive friends.
The symphony and the orchestration you just picked up from the BSB's and how you hummed the loudly enough to make sure Karthik knew it was an English song. Sometimes, the little diary entries I used to maintain, before double checking on the latch of your parents room and write down "I Love You ...", quickly running across for water to the kitchen. Settling your goosebumps is the definite purpose, settling a sudden uprising and an altercation of nerves between your legs due to that bout of romance is an unintended consequence.
Or the journey you take to an uninhibited corner under a tree of eternal darkness to set fire to the little devil in your mouth for a minute, with clamouring friends jumping in line for their little moment of ecstasy. Not to forget the airs with which the monk who taught you is looked down up once you tame a black dog. And to go with the expert inferences on intoxication and the nonchalance in spelling out your favorite cuisine as "The liquids of Scotland".
Screeeeech...Rams my head into the front seat of a woman just missing her err..shoulders. That's how suddenly the present plays spoilsport into my adulterated trance I get living through a Bergkamp's goal and the classroom fights I would have had thence. The bloody driver slams the brake hard on my dreams. Kannagi constantly keeps casting a suspicious eye on me, on an another day, on an another day gone by, long gone by, I would have been sitting on her lap..Oh how do I stop thinking about the glorious gone-byes?
The Future is built, The past is pride..And ain't this wonderful present a lovely present to the romantic past?
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