hi, it has been quite a while since i last scribbled here. my grueling final exams are over and i am just managing to survive the vacuum by, guess what, refreshing my memories! i have pulled down stacks of photo albums into a heap; some of them far older than myself, and waiting for their final passage into a peaceful oblivion , shoot me a frown of displeasure. nevertheless, i carry on creating a ruckus , like a cat amongst these old pigeons used to their comfort of shady corners of the almirah.
i have also managed to pile up all my poetry notebooks and i find there are quite a few of them! i always had the good habit of neatly putting my pieces in these notebooks along with the date, so that they become a monologue, a memoir encrypted with twisted mirrors. now, i turn page by page, and rediscover a familiar landscape with its unique depths and heights, caves and labyrinths, myths and madness.
there is something else too. music. i randomly choose from my quite large collection and happily lose myself.
some of you will find this interesting, some of you will think of this as a novel method of wasting a vacation but i have found out something else.
as i try to move backward in time, i discover that there are different approaches to a memory. a memory is not simply a record of a past event, it is actually a construct. i can construct a memory in words, in colours, or in abstraction. a photo is like a house, you can physically encounter it. a memoir, or poems in my case, is part physical, part abstract. there is still a path amidst the wilderness. with music, there is no definite path to lead you. you let it play on and on, you let it dive into your heart and bring to surface whatever it wants. you are not in control.
when does this process take place? i think of it as a continuous process that starts as soon as an event occurs (if not before that!), and the process continues till death. even when we are not thinking about it, in our subconscious, we continue to reconstruct the memory again and again. knowingly or unknowingly, we are, truly, memory-smiths!
i have also managed to pile up all my poetry notebooks and i find there are quite a few of them! i always had the good habit of neatly putting my pieces in these notebooks along with the date, so that they become a monologue, a memoir encrypted with twisted mirrors. now, i turn page by page, and rediscover a familiar landscape with its unique depths and heights, caves and labyrinths, myths and madness.
there is something else too. music. i randomly choose from my quite large collection and happily lose myself.
some of you will find this interesting, some of you will think of this as a novel method of wasting a vacation but i have found out something else.
as i try to move backward in time, i discover that there are different approaches to a memory. a memory is not simply a record of a past event, it is actually a construct. i can construct a memory in words, in colours, or in abstraction. a photo is like a house, you can physically encounter it. a memoir, or poems in my case, is part physical, part abstract. there is still a path amidst the wilderness. with music, there is no definite path to lead you. you let it play on and on, you let it dive into your heart and bring to surface whatever it wants. you are not in control.
when does this process take place? i think of it as a continuous process that starts as soon as an event occurs (if not before that!), and the process continues till death. even when we are not thinking about it, in our subconscious, we continue to reconstruct the memory again and again. knowingly or unknowingly, we are, truly, memory-smiths!
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