Lazing on the bank,
Swathed in the cool breeze,
I suddenly sensed a rumble.
As I yearned for the pranks,
And the affable ease,
Into silence drew the ensemble.
Trees stood on the other cant,
Hiding the distressed plant,
Born of seeds, I once did fumble.
No bridge to the other side,
No coracle in sight,
The floating clouds did humble.
My arms stretched, I tried to reach;
The width, though, too vast to breach,
With no branch eager to be nimble.
Aghast, the emotion,
Which held time a notion,
Overwhelmed to coax a mumble.
If I could only travel time
To thaw the rime,
My iniquity is but a festered bumble.
Nostalgia is defined as a wistful yearning for the past. The longing though is expressed by seeking an object, a person or thing, associated with that point on the time line.
A typical bout of nostalgia in my preteen years involved a craving for Bonny Mix - a chocolate flavored cereal. Bonny Mix was perhaps the first among the edibles to make it to my delicacy list. That it was relished by my cousins made it even more accessible. However, to our annoyance, it vanished off the shelves of stores mysteriously: our insulation from the news mostly added to the intrigue!
Although the non-availability of an artifact can cause consternation in the present, and pensiveness in the future, it is not to be held solely culpable. A case in point is my 'Sword of Tipu Sultan'. Even as DD remained the sole enterprise in entertainment, the reign of the Tiger of Mysore recurred. His kingdom, this time around, was far-flung and well beyond the territorial limits of Mysore, and sans aggression at that. The Sultan would enter the royal abode, and a few million living rooms, riding a caparisoned elephant - the languid beast swaying to the background score as it trod - and resplendent in his bejeweled robe. An object that charmed one more than the Sultan's shimmering headgear was the shiny hilt of his sword. And soon, the toy stores had plastic replicas of the sword - hilt and blade. Unsurprisingly, my cousin and I would be straddled on the backrest of the sofa at our grandparents' place brandishing the weapon, imagining and imitating a wobbly elephant ride. I am sure i can find the sword by rummaging through the stuff at our garage, but regaling in that regality seems far-fetched and not least because my foot would touch the floor if i tried 'boarding' the sofa's backrest!
Regards people, the case is slightly different. Names, faces, gaits, accents and quirks, amongst other attributes, contribute to the remembrance of individuals. The name Chinmay, for example, reminds me of a tot from my Montessori class. The guy was the only friend to have been a part of one of my birthday celebrations till recently, when the fad decided to feed on me, only to be eventually fed up. I do admit i cannot remember his face or the tone of his voice. Yet, i can affirm relishing puliyogare and his company. Similarly, the cruiser reminds me of my childhood hero - the Phenom. And so do trench coats and Kid Rock. Thus, memories of people bloom in response to a wide range of stimuli.
Interestingly, people who are in touch, but seem well beyond reach, mount a challenge comparable to that of the departed - literal and figurative - in terms of nostalgia. Speaking to such folks can give one a strong hint of a gross mismatch between the vista in one's mental space and the 'surround sound'. Such encounters ensure the manifestation of a wish for a rendezvous comprising the 'earlier edition' of the other, and possibly one's younger self.
All said, the hankering for an object, a place, or a person is, in essence, a pining for a feeling: a feeling abandoned along the road; a feeling, which, proceeding along the winding path into the oblivion, halts at definite signposts to cry farewell, to produce the pangs of nostalgia.
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