It was a Tuesday and I was stuck in a meeting with a client who looked evil and boring at the same time. While she spoke in a high pitched, giggly tone, her curly hair seemed like little snakes. So while the rest of the country was enjoying Sachin score yet another test century, I was sitting here, talking niceties with Mendosa. Or was it Mesopotamia? What was that name of that monster??
And then I realised it. I had forgotten it. My favourite story as a child, forgotten. Dumped in the attic of memories, never to be brought out again.
It was then that the sad part of growing up struck me. It is not the dull routine that we settle into everyday. It is not the fact that we are stuck with the same partner for life. The saddest part of growing up is that we forget.
The tiny pleasures of life. The stories of good versus evil. Little things that made our eyes widen up in joy. It is these things that we lose (apart from of course hair, flexibility, and Cartoon Network).
We grew up in an age when remembering something depended solely on us. You had to talk about it with someone, or fantasise during ‘meditation time’, to crystallise and give shape to a memory. There were no cameras, or facebook, or scrap books. Even more shocking was the fact that I wasn’t sure exactly what all I had forgotten. I mean, you only know it when you can remember it. How can you remember the things that you have forgotten?
This blog is intended to act as a suitcase of memories. Neatly packed, arranged, and there for me whenever I need to revisit my childhood. You are free to agree, disagree, argue, comment, add, like, or dislike whatever you want. It’s like a walk down memory lane.
In two’s. Class wise. Holding hands, and without chappals!
And then I realised it. I had forgotten it. My favourite story as a child, forgotten. Dumped in the attic of memories, never to be brought out again.
It was then that the sad part of growing up struck me. It is not the dull routine that we settle into everyday. It is not the fact that we are stuck with the same partner for life. The saddest part of growing up is that we forget.
The tiny pleasures of life. The stories of good versus evil. Little things that made our eyes widen up in joy. It is these things that we lose (apart from of course hair, flexibility, and Cartoon Network).
We grew up in an age when remembering something depended solely on us. You had to talk about it with someone, or fantasise during ‘meditation time’, to crystallise and give shape to a memory. There were no cameras, or facebook, or scrap books. Even more shocking was the fact that I wasn’t sure exactly what all I had forgotten. I mean, you only know it when you can remember it. How can you remember the things that you have forgotten?
This blog is intended to act as a suitcase of memories. Neatly packed, arranged, and there for me whenever I need to revisit my childhood. You are free to agree, disagree, argue, comment, add, like, or dislike whatever you want. It’s like a walk down memory lane.
In two’s. Class wise. Holding hands, and without chappals!
Thanks a ton for creating this blog.. i am sure everybody who reads this blog (and ofcourse understand it) would be smiling throughout :) and the devil's name was medusa!!
ReplyDeleteAmazing intro to a very interesting blog.
ReplyDeleteesp loved the third paragraph
I read your entire blog. Awesome!! You remembered so much of those days in PS. I could barely recollect most of PS life before reading your blog.Glad you refreshed our memories. Am sure everybody must be smiling and ROFL for some blogs. Keep blogging.
ReplyDeleteThis blog is too awesome man. Always keep blogging and we will always be following yo u.
ReplyDelete