Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Re writing

I stare at the blank screen. Doubt plagues me, its been a long time since I wrote. A long time since I actually took the time to do the things on the to do list. A long time since I sat down and made a pause. A long time indeed.

Sitting here, an old foe creeps up. Does this blog really matter? Does anyone really read it? Should I not be writing something deeper. An article perhaps? A comment on Modi. A write up on the floods? A note on the falling Rupee? Something with relevance - depth- economics- politics- big words that I know I ought to feel passionate for but leaves me feeling .. out of depth.

For the now, I feel like a passenger on a train. News, events flow past me like the next paddy field. Registered, noted but leaving no trace no impact.

The things that do leave a trace, are the small innocent mundane moments of daily living. Moments that must come everyday in everyones life. And yet these everyday moments are the ones that slip by from ones memory the fastest.

My 4 month old daughters uncoordinated screams form the backdrop music. She is hoping that her voice lures the rattle closer, or at least gets her mom to stop typing and get her the toys. I smile at her antics.

And right there in that very moment there is a fear that I wont remember this moment. Her face, her wordless screams shall fade away in the file of subconscious memories accessible only on the chair of a hypnotist. Human memory is a vexed instrument.

Months back, was having lunch with a friends mother. A close relative of hers was slowly loosing her memory and taking care of her was a challenge. As the relatives brain lost touch with the continuum of time as we know it - it spiralled and dipped into the past of its own sweet will. Random moments surfaced. Crucial moments were ignored. For example in graphic detail she narrated a story from a time when she was a girl in the unpartitioned Pakistan. Her family had just moved houses. Boxes lined the house. News came that they were to entertain that evening. The table had not yet come. A make shift arrangement was done by lining up the yet to be installed bathroom commodes, putting a pretty table cloth on top and covering it all. She recalled distinctly how she was petrified the man would drop something and bend, uncovering the secret.

Her eyes danced as she recounted this. She looked blankly though at her daughter whom she was sharing this story with. That her brain had forgotten.

Ah memory loss in the old. its ok. its a part of life.
Its not an issue of the old though, its amazing how much we forget.

Sitting today, I wont be able to recall the names of my classmates in class 9. - That was maybe 20 years ago. Or the section that I was in. What was the colour of the school bag that I sported that year? Marks for the maths paper in the final exam? Name of the teacher who taught me history?

Forget school, daily events from a week back are difficult to remember. What it all boils down to are snatches - randomly selected by our brain that remain.

In which case, it makes perfect sense to capture them. A silly diary on an online space. An indulgence for an older me. A support to my weary memory. A space to savour the day gone by. A little bit of an pause.

A memory bank of anecdotes. A databank of memories. For me for my new year of being mommy.