THE BOOK
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culled pintrest.com |
Perhaps the only shot we have at time travel is with the
memories we hold in our minds. Either good, bad or both. We rely on them to take
us back in time. It may not be physically, but the journey is real.
Funny thing the mind does is, we have no control of these
memories. Either they become inaccessible like the answers to a test we were so
sure we studied for. Or they become a repetition in our minds over and over
again, they keep going in loops and we are unable to forget even in our sleep.
The mind does not care how unsolicited they are.
Thoughts are bearable. They are just thoughts. But
a scent or a word that takes you back to when you were four is a powerful
instrument. So powerful that for a brief moment, the present is lost and you
have telepathically moved in time. Even in a happy moment, laughing with family
and friends, these intrusive thoughts come knocking. And they are so vivid that you feel paralyzed
where you stand. The same gut wrenching feeling of a terrible moment. If you are
not careful, you get stuck there. Back in time.
Living in the past, covered with sadness you ought to have moved on from.
These are memories we would love to forget. We would give
anything to have a total wipe out of that cringe worthy fragment of time. They
make you wish amnesia was a servant you can summon to wipe away the stained
memories, scrub them, until they
are good and sparkling. Then finally, store them away.
On the contrary, there exist exquisite memories. Like the memories they sing about in Bollywood movies. “I can’t find sleep at night, your memories they taunt me, tell what do I do?”[1] Surprise, surprise. A good thought can keep you up at night too. Ah yes, you like those ones don’t you? The ones we hold on to. The ones that creep up on you slowly, caressing your senses, coming and going in waves of mild ecstasy, filling you up and leaving you smiling like a satisfied fool.
Perhaps we shouldn’t hope to forget then. Perhaps we shouldn't throw those items away. Perhaps we should
learn to accept these memories as they come. We should marvel at how persistent
they are even after we have destroyed all sentiments, deleted all history, blocked all contacts.
Yet we find them dancing in the sun rays and present in the heavy rains.
They are in your favorite meal and in your favorite place. And when all is quiet,
you still hear the voice calling out, and you almost answer, because it is so
clear, so close.
I do not want your memories to be so distant like lands we
pass when in a moving train. So distant, like the pictures on a postcard, of
places I have never been to, yet nostalgically calling out to my heart.
I don’t want your memories to be something I would scramble
for in the middle of an insomnia ridden night, because my heavy mind just
remembered that it was starting to forget. The words you said are slipping
away, the crinkles by your eyes when you smile, little things about you are
fading away. So I search frantically, reading these blog entries and shuffling photo
galleries, hoping to find a settling memory. I don’t want to lose you from the
only place I still have you.
I don’t want your memories to come to me unsolicited, like
flashes of PTSD[2].
Then I’ll try to gather them, and store them but they are gone, left as quickly as they came, like water in a basket, leaving me completely helpless and hopeless.
I understand that you cannot be here beside me. Therefore I want
your memories to be within reach so I can find you whenever I need to.
I want a monumental hall dedicated to you in my mind. Your
smile hung up on the walls, your voice the echoing song in my head. Your scent
sealed in and kept intact like I did with your shirt that you gave me, still
carrying your essence. I want your memory preserved like you would a valuable
ancient book, too precious to be moved or touched by daylight so it is kept in
a display case, in that hall dedicated to you. And should I look for you, I want
you to be there, my favorite book, the creases and binding so familiar. The
story already playing, before I begin reading.
I want your memories
intact, mummified should there be a time when I can have you forever. So we can
skip the hard beginning and fall right into each other and stay there.
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