NOSTALGIA

Nostalgia... The Frailty

Memories... good or bad... occupy one's mind sometime or the other...
today is one such day...for me

Papa.....

This needn't or should I say...can't be a sad one... but then...

It's not the faint glimpses of him that i remember...but the everlasting, enigmatically exact existence. He was my friend, philosopher, guide(clichéd as it may sound).... and an impeccable shield( from mum's nagging that is). It was like a world that belonged to the two of us. My most fondest of memories mystically comprise him. How I used to, without fail, cheat my life out playing SCRABBLE...My love for mangoes not the dasheri but langda and safeda . I think he knew this but more of dasheri came home because mum likes those.

Our Preachings to each other, the poems, history lessons...

I was in class 3 and had my history test the next day. I had been staring at a page from my C.W notebook for hours pretending to mug it. In vain.I was terrified. I told papa about how helpless I was and he gave me this incredible technique of remembering stuff... read the matter once thoroughly, as much in details as you can then read it again and the third time try to make a photocopy of it and keep it in your mind. It so happens, that even to this day I clearly remember that the page contained something related to KARL MARX in my pathetic boyish bubble handwriting.

I remember...
The amount of individuality he'd fill in me. When I look back and picture myself as the 9 year old short, plump, red girl that I was, giving him 'directions' about how should he 'direct' the ad films of which he was the 'director', I feel like cracking up at myself. I must have been a laugh riot for the cast and crew on the sets for sure. He'd discuss about issues like dropsy and the rising price of onions.The hows, whys and whats of it.And well they were discussions...I had opinions, even then.

He wasn't the quintessential man but some nuances of his made me realize the true meaning of life....That its imperative for a person to enjoy life, live whole of it like a celebration... that one shouldn't hesitate to take risks to actualize ambitions...that it is rather better to be outspoken than to be unheard.



I remember how it all happened...a cluster of metastatic cells taking him away day by day.I sometimes ponder at the degree of my dumbness at that time. Everything happening right in front of me...chemo, blood, dearth of happiness...those four and a half months of approaching the end and dumb me... But then it wasn't me, as in me of now. It was the me of age twelve. But still I think if I had known, if someone had told me, I would have lived those days like I wanted.

But then....

I don't have no explanations and i don't want to say "why me?"...
The only two things which help me through nostalgia are... Humour and the law of karma...
KARMA... is the only word that can justify an abstract occurring such as this...


Nostalgia is such a waste....