That bitter-sweet candy called nostalgia!

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...."

The allure of the Indian Summer!

Sugarcane juice bubbles up to the brim of the glass. It's as though churned right out of the ocean- the same greenish-yellow tint and freckled with froth and foam! A couple of ice cubes bob up and down as you raise it to your lips. If ever there was amrita...nectar, it has to be this! Saturated with sweetness, with a dash of lemon and ginger, the icy-cold concoction soothes your entire being. The relief is instant.


For outside, it's a raging inferno. The afternoon sun shows little mercy.
Man and animal scurry for cover...to find that elusive patch of shade. Even the crow is silent. Dust billows from the deserted streets......and scatters all over like volcanic ash. The whole world is on fire. Welcome to the great Indian Summer!
But then, sitting inside the dark environs of the wayside shop, with each sip of cool sugarcane juice, it is a feeling of total fullness. You are suddenly at peace with the world, raging though it be, and with yourself!


Happiness is a strange fellow. He conceals himself behind contrasts, behind opposites. To know the happiness of a free life, ask him, who has spent a decade in prison. The happiness of one peaceful day, ask him....who is ravaged by war. To experience the ineffable pleasure in a sip of cold-drink, in one scoop of ice-cream, get roasted in the Indian summer!


Happiness is a quirky little fellow. He is stingy to the extreme, and reveals himself in a tiny trickle, never in a torrent. You sit in the US, with the fridge stashed with buckets of ice-cream, of every possible flavor. It goes totally unnoticed. Three months elapse. Mold and fungus take over. Without batting an eyelid, you dump it whole...in the garbage. It is a problem of plenty. It spoils you- there is no happiness! Rewind now.....to that one choco-bar you savoured as a kid, on a hot summer day. A second one, well, you never asked for it, since it was usually beyond one's budget! As you twirled the choco-bar, this way and that, and watched its chocolate shell crumble in your tongue, it was not just ice-cream you enjoyed, but dollops of happiness too!


Summer is....a kaleidoscope of memories! What about that summer, eons ago,  when you competed with your sister over a mango-shake. How you faked finishing off your glass, and waited till she was done with hers. And then, with mischievous delight, you now flashed your glass, still filled to the brim! And while she looked on longingly, how you prolonged the agony endlessly, one sip at a time, with visible relish, all the time scrutinizing the remaining level of the shake...by the ounce!


And that summer afternoon, when the entire neighborhood kids ransacked  the kitchen in one home, (much to the consternation of the lady of the house) as part of a mega ice-cream making project! How after much custard-stirring and accompanied spillage, it was finally hauled into the freezer. The endless wait for the custard to solidify, with repeated checks- how collective impatience finally brought closure to the growing frustration! The 'ice-cream' still tasted immensely divine....despite having to be drunk off the cups!


And those summer memories, of travel by train in the month of April. It blazed its way through Wadi, Raichur....and places straight out of a furnace! Sitting by the window, the throat was parched and the tongue chalk-dry. And the stop at a nondescript station, when the hawker held up a bottle of Cola....tantalizingly against the face. Ice-water dripped off the base of the bottle, and the sides, pocked with diamond-like beads of condensed-vapor! How you looked back expectantly...piteously...at your stern father...... for that one nod of approval!


Yes, summer is oppressive- it is humid and sticky or unbearably dry. Yes, the electricity plays truant for most parts of the day. You are vexed and you express your irritation. But that instant, that instant....when the current is back....and the fan makes an audible grunt...and whirs into action....the thrill, the happiness.... is for keeps!


The Indian summer and exams are inseparable. It is the season when students suddenly turn overly studious and religious too! As each exam comes to a close, the anticipation of a full two-month vacation takes over. The start of the grand summer vacation- ask those students how they feel.  Happiness, that slimy fellow, gives up his miserliness for a change, and pours his heart out with abandon.


No one celebrates summer like we do- it's the time for lassi topped with generous cream, of delicious kulfi at the beach, of the mango in all its variety, of ice-cold rose-milk and jigarthanda, of sleeping on the terrace by night, of curling up with a book the whole day, of lazy mornings and leisurely walks, of a drugged siesta in the muggy afternoons, of matinee shows and back-to-back mindless movies.....and finally....the pulsating excitement of the IPL circus!
Summer is upon us! Come, let's enjoy this summer to the hilt!