Nostalgia- that bitter-sweet feeling. The tune of a yesteryear film-song, a black-and-white visual on TV, a peacock-feather..pressed against a page, a letter....now in fading ink, written someday...somewhere, a photograph you suddenly stumble upon, or just a stray thought... all it takes, is one little suggestion to rake it up. And with that, it all comes back in a torrent- memories of another day....
Sitting by the window of the speeding bus, you steel yourself to divert the train of thought. It's a hopeless attempt, for once triggered, it has a momentum, all its own. The entire world is recreated- the place, the people, the conversation....down to the last detail. You replay it one more time, but this time....with moist eyes, a lump in the throat and a heavy heart. How do you define nostalgia? It is at once.. sweet and sad, plaited inseparably. Sweet that it happened, sad...that's it's all over. Once it has taken over, it has a certain inevitability. All you can do, is surrender to the emotion and allow the tornado to pass over. It takes a while for the clouds to clear up. The mind returns to its familiar moorings, you break into a little smile and purse your lips with an audible click...wistfully. How beautiful were those days!
Nostalgia need not be this heavy. Let's say, you huddle over your childhood album with family. The company makes the difference now. "This is you? Is this really you...as thin as a drumstick? You had so much hair! And look at this picture! You look like a dacoit appa! With long side-burns and such a hideous moustache! How did someone even marry you?" Laughter rings across the room. You join the merriment and snatch the album to take a closer look at yourself. College days.....the reckless abandon of the times, the friends who shaped that nest, those unforgettable incidents, those arguments, those little fights- the images rush forth and hold the mind captive. But, nostalgia surprisingly, has only one component now- sweetness. There is no element of sadness. You run the finger softly over the pictures; they are dear. Those days are dear. Still, the convivial company makes these musings totally pleasurable. With ease, you move on, to the next page of the album and to the next.
We romanticize the past. Those pictures have no rough edges. We blend them now, with a brush dipped in the mellow hues of the setting sun; no wonder they are so tender, so rosy. Someone reflects about Pre-Independent India and says those days will never come back. Another ponders over the swinging sixties and swears by those wild and fun-filled years. Watching Amitabh Bachchan dripping in the rain and gamboling across Oval Maidan in a popular song from the seventies, we exclaim with a hint of regret, "Look! How Bombay was then! So beautiful! Can we ever get those days back?" There is a pattern in this thought-process: that the present is irksome, but the past had a certain simplicity and beauty which is lost forever. It looks like a downward slide and a hopeless one at that. For sure, even the present irksome days will be gilded in gold someday....when seen through the goggles of the future.
In an attempt to recreate the magic- we organize an Alumni Get-Together and meet-up with the same friends, at the same venue. Stroll past classrooms where we once sat; gaze at those empty chairs and desks and search for those familiar faces. There are none. Sometimes, the place has changed completely. The mental images can no longer be superimposed on these foreign locations. As for people, they have all moved on. So have we. We have a good time no doubt, but in retrospect, the Alumni-Meet falls short. It's as if that age of innocence is irretrievably lost. At times, the feeling is deliberately stoked- we rummage through the old records and play that favorite music collection once more. Or pull out those letters and read them one more time. Or fall back to that genre of music that celebrates and whips up nostalgia- ghazals. We feel we are in control; we even like the sensation. Often, it's the control exercised by one who has hit the bottle. Before we know, it drags us down a dangerous spiral.
Being nostalgic is not a problem. That it should be accompanied with a sense of loss....is. As the years roll by, we turn more cynical about the present. But, what do I really miss? Is it the past? Is it the people? Is it the place? The truth is, I miss myself....myself connected to that cocoon. I miss the younger-me, the dreamer-me, the hopeful-me. I miss that believer-me, that child-in-me.
Hence, the course correction has to begin with me. The only germane attitude with respect to the past is one of acceptance, of gratitude. I make nostalgia truly work for me. I recollect the past and fortify myself that I am richer that those experiences were mine. I feel fortunate and humbled that I was chosen for them. Regrets if any, are also mine. I make peace with them and hug them closer.
With that, I let go of the past. The present is all that I have. I focus on it entirely, cheerfully....the immense possibilities of this moment... to make it the most beautiful, the most fulfilling. It is my present to the present! I live life....king-size!
As Javed Akhtar puts it so wonderfully....
"aankh teri bekaar hi nam hai,
har pal ek naya mausam hai,
kyoon tu aise pal khota hai,
dil aakhir tu kyoon rota hai"
"Unnecessarily are your eyes moist....
Each moment- is a new season.....
why do you miss this moment?
O mind, why needlessly do you cry?"
Or this timeless classic......
"aanewala pal jaanewala hai....
ho sake to isme zindagi bitaa do....
pal ye jo jaanewala hai...."
"This moment... about to arrive....destined it is...to depart....
But....if you can....do live an entire life....within this....
for....this moment....destined it is....to depart...."
Sitting by the window of the speeding bus, you steel yourself to divert the train of thought. It's a hopeless attempt, for once triggered, it has a momentum, all its own. The entire world is recreated- the place, the people, the conversation....down to the last detail. You replay it one more time, but this time....with moist eyes, a lump in the throat and a heavy heart. How do you define nostalgia? It is at once.. sweet and sad, plaited inseparably. Sweet that it happened, sad...that's it's all over. Once it has taken over, it has a certain inevitability. All you can do, is surrender to the emotion and allow the tornado to pass over. It takes a while for the clouds to clear up. The mind returns to its familiar moorings, you break into a little smile and purse your lips with an audible click...wistfully. How beautiful were those days!
Nostalgia need not be this heavy. Let's say, you huddle over your childhood album with family. The company makes the difference now. "This is you? Is this really you...as thin as a drumstick? You had so much hair! And look at this picture! You look like a dacoit appa! With long side-burns and such a hideous moustache! How did someone even marry you?" Laughter rings across the room. You join the merriment and snatch the album to take a closer look at yourself. College days.....the reckless abandon of the times, the friends who shaped that nest, those unforgettable incidents, those arguments, those little fights- the images rush forth and hold the mind captive. But, nostalgia surprisingly, has only one component now- sweetness. There is no element of sadness. You run the finger softly over the pictures; they are dear. Those days are dear. Still, the convivial company makes these musings totally pleasurable. With ease, you move on, to the next page of the album and to the next.
We romanticize the past. Those pictures have no rough edges. We blend them now, with a brush dipped in the mellow hues of the setting sun; no wonder they are so tender, so rosy. Someone reflects about Pre-Independent India and says those days will never come back. Another ponders over the swinging sixties and swears by those wild and fun-filled years. Watching Amitabh Bachchan dripping in the rain and gamboling across Oval Maidan in a popular song from the seventies, we exclaim with a hint of regret, "Look! How Bombay was then! So beautiful! Can we ever get those days back?" There is a pattern in this thought-process: that the present is irksome, but the past had a certain simplicity and beauty which is lost forever. It looks like a downward slide and a hopeless one at that. For sure, even the present irksome days will be gilded in gold someday....when seen through the goggles of the future.
In an attempt to recreate the magic- we organize an Alumni Get-Together and meet-up with the same friends, at the same venue. Stroll past classrooms where we once sat; gaze at those empty chairs and desks and search for those familiar faces. There are none. Sometimes, the place has changed completely. The mental images can no longer be superimposed on these foreign locations. As for people, they have all moved on. So have we. We have a good time no doubt, but in retrospect, the Alumni-Meet falls short. It's as if that age of innocence is irretrievably lost. At times, the feeling is deliberately stoked- we rummage through the old records and play that favorite music collection once more. Or pull out those letters and read them one more time. Or fall back to that genre of music that celebrates and whips up nostalgia- ghazals. We feel we are in control; we even like the sensation. Often, it's the control exercised by one who has hit the bottle. Before we know, it drags us down a dangerous spiral.
Being nostalgic is not a problem. That it should be accompanied with a sense of loss....is. As the years roll by, we turn more cynical about the present. But, what do I really miss? Is it the past? Is it the people? Is it the place? The truth is, I miss myself....myself connected to that cocoon. I miss the younger-me, the dreamer-me, the hopeful-me. I miss that believer-me, that child-in-me.
Hence, the course correction has to begin with me. The only germane attitude with respect to the past is one of acceptance, of gratitude. I make nostalgia truly work for me. I recollect the past and fortify myself that I am richer that those experiences were mine. I feel fortunate and humbled that I was chosen for them. Regrets if any, are also mine. I make peace with them and hug them closer.
With that, I let go of the past. The present is all that I have. I focus on it entirely, cheerfully....the immense possibilities of this moment... to make it the most beautiful, the most fulfilling. It is my present to the present! I live life....king-size!
As Javed Akhtar puts it so wonderfully....
"aankh teri bekaar hi nam hai,
har pal ek naya mausam hai,
kyoon tu aise pal khota hai,
dil aakhir tu kyoon rota hai"
"Unnecessarily are your eyes moist....
Each moment- is a new season.....
why do you miss this moment?
O mind, why needlessly do you cry?"
Or this timeless classic......
"aanewala pal jaanewala hai....
ho sake to isme zindagi bitaa do....
pal ye jo jaanewala hai...."
"This moment... about to arrive....destined it is...to depart....
But....if you can....do live an entire life....within this....
for....this moment....destined it is....to depart...."
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