Nostalgia

I am reading Vikram Seth's book - From Heaven Lake. It's an interesting travelogue of Vikram through the western parts of China and then into Tibet. Anyway - an interesting quote in the book is - "My present is all about collecting experiences for future nostalgia".

Do we always feel that the past was glorious? Does memory have automatic filter by which it removes the bad parts and stores only the good ones? When I look back at my childhood, at first sight, it always seems like a perfect one. I was doing well in my studies, I played basketball 4 hours every day, I had the most loving of parents, I loved reading books and my parents always bought me whatever books I wanted. Fast forward to college days - days of fun, of being in a remote village cut off from civilization, of those late night lachaas ... and of aloo bhujia, girls on campus and travels through parts of Rajasthan!

Is there selective memory? In comparison, the present is a it dull, slow! Well it actually might be because of the environment/conditions in which we live. Professionally, we are going through a merger - lots of uncertainty, horrible market conditions outside! Personally, it's been a shitty year. I don't have many friends in office; struggle to get a decent conversation about anything outside of work with my colleagues. The most beautiful thing is my wife still loves me and is a pillar of strength for me during these tumultuous times. I feel lonely, I miss my father and I cry every other night. But, may be I will wake up at a later date and think this was a good time in my life?

Music can make one feel nostalgic; books transport you into another world that kind of equates to nostalgia. When I was reading Vikram Seth's book on travel through the Uighir regions of China, I myself starting floating into a nostalgia of visiting the Babu budan giri dagah near Chikmagalur. I relived that memory with a pleasant smile. When Pooja and I talk to Bangalore, both of us break into an involuntary smile - recollecting the memories of Jakarandas, Silk cottons and of the travels into Karnataka and the walks in Indira nagar park. Of the dreams that we lived in those walks and what the future would present to us.

Now, the future is here! Well, it seems like this is not what those dreams looked like. But, we have some money now - which we didn't at that time!

The big nostalgia I had when I sat by my father's bed in the hospital was one of the two of us on a scooter. We were going nowhere like we did so many times. He would kick start the scooter, and two of us would ride to everywhere and nowhere. Those were the days when the seeds of exploration, of loving suspense, and being part of the journey without necessarily knowing what the destination was, were sown. And here, I continue on that journey that my father started .. I hope he is continuing on that one as a soul - and I love him!

Life, death and everything else ...

I miss him a lot. Every night I dream of having a conversation with him. Every morning, I wake up thinking; if only he was here … It was on the dawn of 31 August – this year. The living world changed on me. The amount of pure, unconditional love I got from the living world less than halved in a moment. I wake up in the middle of the night – screaming, sweating, shouting the question, “why?” Why did this need to happen. It was a happy world – full of love – full of unconditional and pure love.

A lot has happened this year. People who loved me – four of them departed, one by one in a span of 3 months. The year was horrible. When you are going through this shit, you pinch yourself and ask, “Is this real?” Sadly the answer is always, yes – this is life.

Never has my pursuit of the answer for what happens after life, or after death, been of greater significance. I had a theory long back – a result of probably a collection of some shallow thought on my part, and a set of stories from I gathered this theory.

Am I in a dream, or am I the dream? The concept of illusion or Maya might sound fatalistic – but I don’t have an alternative to that theory to explain why such things happen. Dream is the reality and reality is the dream. What is real, in my humble opinion, in this dream, is the love. Love is real and this is something I have learnt over the years.

Love stretches beyond dreams, nights and days. In the year of sadness, I also experienced love of some great people. I can still feel the intensity of the love of my father. I can see him smile at me, walk with me and speak to me. I can hear his voice, I can hear him sing and I can feel his hug. That’s what comes from pure unconditional love. But, the amount of pure, unconditional love I received from the living world, dwindled, folded and dwarfed into a tiny fraction of its original measure before that fateful day.

These incidents of the year have opened a can of questions. The questions come hurling at me at amazing pace every day and night. Some are tough questions I have not thought about … some are the same old questions that have suddenly become important again. Some are plain thoughts hurling past me … And I want to be aware - aware of the thoughts, questions and the love.