What’s the one thing we all are told by our families when we
are old enough to have a drink? Don’t mix your alcohol! Well since hangovers
are associated with both alcohol and nostalgia all I can say is I find the same
for emotions. Don’t mix pain and pleasure because however complimentary they
might be they will always leave you reeling. It’s the same with friends as
well, don’t mix acquaintances with real friends. They can never give you the
same satisfaction and by the end of it leave your head heavy and soul tired. Why delve on an issue I have not much
experience in? Well for the simple reason that one drinks alcohol, to numb the senses,
to lose control just for a moment but is it worth it? If it were any other day
I would say no but it is November 2nd 2014 that I write this
article. A day after I spent the most amazing time hoping the nostalgia would
wash the senses away, two days after I realized that when your best friends are
there with you and make a few choices in your stead it makes sense to live that
moment, when your sister decides you deserve more than you bargained for and
when your best friend tells you sometimes it’s the mistake of the immaturity of
the mature girl! Its moments like this when I agree that numbing the senses is
quite frankly the best way to deal with things beyond the realm of our control.
We accept things for what they have become and accept the constant continuity
of change.
So to illustrate on how a feeling of euphoria seeps in I’m
going to get creative and give you guys a story. It’s called The Adolescent. It’s
almost a debut in storytelling so please excuse any mistakes you find.
In a sky full of flying lanterns, on the 31st of October,
the night where ghosts silently roam the streets, the darkness of Halloween
illuminates the dreams of that woolgathering adolescent. The fireworks clear
the air for the smoke they leave behind and the moments have been replaced with
memories which the adolescent views in silent contemplation. No one stands
around her, in solitude she is alone while alone she is torn between two
worlds. One which is based in reality the other which she hopes for in fantasy.
The one in reality is shrouded with doubt. A suspicion about
all that exists. The relationships that exist, the friends she has and what
perception flows in the minds of people who she believes only to be
acquaintances. When she looks through time she sees all that she has collected
and all her fears have been confirmed. She has found people she never wants to
let go off. The moments she wants to capture permanently all make this reality
so much tougher. She has one God, Death and all she wants to tell him is Not
Today. But then the oblivion written for every one of us was written for her as
well, she knew it was near and that made this acceptance so much harder that
she would have to leave it all behind that all that would be left was her
moments and realization dawned upon her. The memories she was creating were
more for those who she knew. A treasure trove of moments by which she could be
remembered.
The one in fantasy was like any other. Where she met people,
where there was no trepidation of that nearing oblivion and where the moments
were captured permanently and in perfection. Perfection not in the way of the
world but in the way that was perfect for her. Where if she looked through time
she would see all those people she did not want to let go off and those
strangers who made the wee hours of the night an exuberance helping welcome the
sunrise which in a week, on the 6th of November, was nothing less of
telling that oblivion that come what may today was not her time , it was
tomorrow, a tomorrow that would not come till that exuberant sun set.
Numbing her senses, she felt was the only way to deal with
the gap between the two worlds. She introduced the two faces of a coin she
wished she kept separate and then it seemed to me that a story does not need to
be told when a reader realizes that there will always be two facets of the same
truth, one in their view and the other in the protagonists perception.
And now that I've got your brain thinking about what exactly
am I trying to say ill simplify it for you. I'm talking about the lot we
perceive to be strangers. They aren’t actually strangers in the real sense.
They are merely people with whom only an acquaintance has been made. One night,
a few friends, a few acquaintances and it was all the numbing the brain required.
The senses were rejuvenated and the perceptions changed.
Telling stories is easy. Recollecting moments and creating a
story not so much. Too many tiny details, too many incidents, too much to write
and not enough words to express it! How do you express an entire night of
amazement and wonder, the feel of wind on your face at 11:45 pm while sitting
in a vehicle that if not introduced correct would be a crime, the calm at
looking up at the stars and wishing the lights went off, the cold breeze and
smell of burning wood, the hum of a few voices, the exultation after winning a
PS4 Game, the burning sensation when the Maggie vessel still on the flame
touches your unwary hand, the encouragement to watch a TV Show that no one can
get over, the formal introductions, the letting go of inhibitions, the cleaning
up of a kitchen table, the sharing of blankets and identities..of discussing
how lucky or unlucky a person would be if a sarcastic human decides to confide
in them , the good music and hospitality, the people who once were only formal
and now swear to be informal, the stories being put to test, the stick of the
night guard making its own beat giving its master a beat for his steps, the
uncountable coke studio renditions, the newspaper boy playing throw with
papers, the early morning tea jaunt, the solitude driving away the noise and
the noise driving away the reticence.
Where do we find this astounding collection of people or moments?
The lot that sits by you till you sleep, the ones that clean up after you, the
ones that drive you whenever you ask, the ones that sing with you, the ones
that supply you continuously with numbing agents ( reminding you of the good
time), the ones that play Hide ’n’ Seek just because you like pretending you’re
two years old on your birthday, the ones that like coke studio, the ones that
make you feel safe even when you’re in danger, the ones that prove chivalry
exists, the ones who stay awake just so you can sleep. the lot that gives you the " Tum, Main aur Do Cup Chai.." feeling. How do you thank them?
How do you acknowledge this lot? How do you show gratitude and surprise in one
go? How do you get over this Hangover?
This Hangover of the truth? How do you deal with the Hangover of exclusivity,
emotion and friendship? Where do you
find these hues of personage for not everyone is lucky enough to experience
these facets of the truth. The truth that it’s not often that we meet people
with whom we get along so completely and easily and this is just a chapter of
this crazy book we’ve taken upon ourselves to write. This Bizarre Anthology of Reminiscence.
