Blast from the past

I remember one Calvin & Hobbes strip in which Calvin receives a letter from his past - warning him of impending doom (or school, I forget). I felt like that recently when I was mailed a copy of a note I had to write during my BAT (Business Analyst Training - glorified name for week of fun in Singapore). The note, which is supposed to carry my key takeaways (I am beginning to abhor all these jargons... grrr) from my training, was highly confidential and for my eyes alone. Guess what it said?

I must be smart. And oh-so-profound. For it flirted with some gibberish about feedback (no, you don't need to know). And it had two wonderful - nay, beautiful - pearls of wisdom.
1. Be yourself - You are you and I am I.
2. Always remember about happiness and slowness.

Sounds silly, but when I read thus, I was amused. Amused that this was so important to me then that I had to write myself a note - from the past - to remind myself of its import. Having reflected on this, I have decided to mail this back to myself of the future yet again - how do I do this though?

Which reminds me - einmal ist keinmal. Once is nonce. Rummaging through the multitude of abandoned books at home, I chanced upon a sepia-tinged version of The Unbearable Lightnes of Being. Probably my mom's, from the 80's or even earlier. Feeling victorious at striking gold in a coal mine, I read a few pages of Kundera's masterpiece. And then tried explaining the beauty of those three words to my grandmother. Either she was impressed by its meaning or the way she likened it to 2 vernacular names, she seemed to like it a lot. Oh, the everyday impact I have on people.

"Why don't we seem to enjoy the simpler things in life? Why are we so connected that Mush calling Emergency somewhere far far away should seem to affect us?" asked L. "No no, I am very much still enjoying the smaller things in life." I replied. Like crosswords and poker. The glorified past haunts us time and again. If there is one true obsession for every human, irrespective of caste, creed, language, country, religion, sex and age, it has to be our unified love for that repainted version of our past - the best days of our lives - that which is over.

There's nothing wrong in keeping memories snug in your mind. Or slightly colouring it a happy hue. But you must remember - einmal ist keinmal - and move on.

Recently one of my wiser friends (or so I consider him), compared me to Will Hunting from Good Will Hunting. I felt great. Will Hunting (and a few others from more obscure movies like Dazed and Confused) are truly legendary characters in my life - inspirations. They are kindred souls of a life that was not to be - or perhaps was, in a different dimension. They are the closest I can get to defeating Nietsche and Kundera at their irrepeatability of the human life. They are my closest parallels to immortality.

That reminds me - T, give me that book man.

Happy Diwali folks - and children, play safe but play. You'll want these memories later on...

Cracker,
H

Past it on

He talked about yesteryears, about a time long ago. When the air was cleaner, the sky was bluer and the birds chirped louder and more melodiously. I remember that time too. As do most other people.

Every weekend I fly and fly back. And the fly back is an amazing two and a half hours for introspection. Especially with a good food for thought. I get incredibly energized during that time, with a rapid train of ideas flashing through my hyperactive brain. I decide to gym, decide to write a book, decide to open a restaurant chain, decide to quit, decide never to quit, decide this and that. Great ideas, often intertwined with long hours of sleep. So I lose most of these ideas.

One such idea was my listing-of-friends idea. I had thought it was absolutely the most fantastic idea I had ever come up with. It involved an excel sheet and 4 columns, 2 of which were name and last contacted. I will let your young infertile minds conjure the remaining part of that sorry excuse for the human condition.

Friends are a window to your memories. They are the only way to get to relive a past that will never be. Never of a present of a future you never saw and a future which for some strange reason seems like a past you had once had. Like the river. (T, that's your cue to smile). Friends, apparently, serve the only purpose of lighting the embers of recollection. Or rather, primarily. Hogwash. Kundera can get it wrong too. A minuscule amount of the time.

How obsessed we are with the past. A constant urge to think and talk about it. To reminisce. We actually signify its importance with a verb. Do parallels exist with the present and future?

Detachment is nirvana. Detachment of everything. Detachment of the past, present and future. The past is difficult to withdraw from, unless. Unless. Unless you get hit by love. Because love is the insatiable glorification of the present, so much so that you lose the concept of the past. The now conquers all. Swallows the future and vanquishes the past. Every other day, especially when we are young, the specter of our beautiful pasts comes a-knocking. Knock, knock, here I am, your life idyll.

Not to worry, T. That's for mortals. Those with a constant need to prove and worry. The insecure and the dissatisfied. Not us. For we know the truth. We know of that and more.

But you know what, we'll always have Bombay. And Modigliani.

Passe,
H