A consequence of being a marshal at organising things and having a profoundly long memory is that you more often than not hit the roads that trip you down the memory lane. While cleaning my bookshelf the other day, I caught hold of this picture in a really old, surprisingly functional pendrive, ironically inside a folder named "new pictures".
For those of you who know me barely, this is me in 11th standard. And the room in the picture is the room that my mom and dad gave to me and my sister in our then, newly-bought flat in Delhi. The time that was. The year 2003.
I really wish we had never sold that flat to buy a bigger one. There were so many good and not-so-good times we shared as a family there. From an innocent child to a haughty teenager, I grew young and conscious of my being in that place. My mom brought home our no-longer-with-us, always-in-our-heart pet named Koffee from PETA in that home - we got the chance to take care of the most gorgeous puppy of his age, chocolate gold colored with blue eyes, super naughty and stubborn, very loving. We would play endlessly with him in the balcony, feed him with his favourite treats in exchange of his love. Come winters, we made a cosy kennel of blankets and cardboards for him in the living room, we toilet trained him in the verandah and did so many adorable things together.
I shared my craziest bedtime secrets with my sister, played video games all night with my brother in that place, fought with both of them, taking for granted, well, the ephemeral togetherness. I remember getting ready for college in that place. I learnt to drive, got my first car, my first job, met my first crush and dated my (almost) first boyfriend, both of whom were different people by the way, in that place.
There is nothing in the picture that I have with me now. Those clothes, the footwear, the desktop, the printer, the computer table, the curtains, the blanket, the bedsheet - nothing. It all got old, worn out and eventually gone forever.
For most obvious reasons, there was a moment of stark pain I felt inside my heart, as I looked at this picture. Even while getting led by a storm of many vivid emotions, I was only glad to be reunited with these deep-seated memories.
And I thank this picture for storing safely that moment in time which can never be reproduced again, using mightiest will or any amount of riches and privileges in the world. As I write this, I reflect on a heartwarming scene from the movie Coco, where Hector says and the plot eventually reveals, why our "memories have to be passed down".
The glories of the yesteryear and beyond, the experiences lived, the lessons learnt- are all what make us who we are. They are a part of our identity, our being. They make us rich, in all arenas of consciousness.
I dread imagining a life where I let go of these memories. The memories that beat inside me like a second heart.
For those of you who know me barely, this is me in 11th standard. And the room in the picture is the room that my mom and dad gave to me and my sister in our then, newly-bought flat in Delhi. The time that was. The year 2003.
I really wish we had never sold that flat to buy a bigger one. There were so many good and not-so-good times we shared as a family there. From an innocent child to a haughty teenager, I grew young and conscious of my being in that place. My mom brought home our no-longer-with-us, always-in-our-heart pet named Koffee from PETA in that home - we got the chance to take care of the most gorgeous puppy of his age, chocolate gold colored with blue eyes, super naughty and stubborn, very loving. We would play endlessly with him in the balcony, feed him with his favourite treats in exchange of his love. Come winters, we made a cosy kennel of blankets and cardboards for him in the living room, we toilet trained him in the verandah and did so many adorable things together.
I shared my craziest bedtime secrets with my sister, played video games all night with my brother in that place, fought with both of them, taking for granted, well, the ephemeral togetherness. I remember getting ready for college in that place. I learnt to drive, got my first car, my first job, met my first crush and dated my (almost) first boyfriend, both of whom were different people by the way, in that place.
For most obvious reasons, there was a moment of stark pain I felt inside my heart, as I looked at this picture. Even while getting led by a storm of many vivid emotions, I was only glad to be reunited with these deep-seated memories.
And I thank this picture for storing safely that moment in time which can never be reproduced again, using mightiest will or any amount of riches and privileges in the world. As I write this, I reflect on a heartwarming scene from the movie Coco, where Hector says and the plot eventually reveals, why our "memories have to be passed down".
The glories of the yesteryear and beyond, the experiences lived, the lessons learnt- are all what make us who we are. They are a part of our identity, our being. They make us rich, in all arenas of consciousness.
I dread imagining a life where I let go of these memories. The memories that beat inside me like a second heart.
