Stumbled upon a forgotten world...
By Arastah Jannat Islam
In the journey of life some people come to leave, things are possessed to be disposed, some moments are lived to create memories and some memories are created to get buried under the stacks of time. Some memories brightly shine and showcased in the shelf of time, reminding the moments associated, however good or bad (with equal fervour), while some just sit at the back of the shelf, in one of the deepest corner, existing yet making us oblivion to their existence. However, those taking the backseats are not any insignificant instances to have lived. Neither were they some huge grandeur of events (at least not all). These moments were simple, subtle affairs, which might not be life changing yet they have a lot of meaning attached to them. These memories are like that hint of fragrance that comes along a sudden brush of breeze, creates some ripples in your senses and vanishes in an instant.
On my recent cleaning spree, I stumbled upon such myriad memories.
Sounds from the past....
As I unlocked one of the cabinets, an avalanche of memories rolled down at the sight. I have been an ardent music lover since the time I can remember and this cabinet lives a prove to it. There were hundreds of audio cassettes stacked there. (Yes, audio cassettes, the taped audio cassettes with sides A and B, mostly with around eight songs!) I remember as a kid, how I used to nag my Mama (specially!) to get me those songs that I loved. Interestingly from one cassette I hardly listened to one or two songs, those that were popular and those that led me to buy those albums. Nevertheless there were some cassettes where all the songs were beautifully composed (there were few of such!). Gradually as I grew up and started receiving pocket money, all my money used to go to the music store. However, the most special part of finding these cassettes is that, I found those cassettes that my favourite brother, my cousin gave me, with his name inscribed on the covers. The favourite cousin of mine whom we lost in an accident and he left us so early for his heavenly abode, connected with me more than his siblings. We grew up together and may be that is why I never missed a sibling even being a lone child of my parents. Memories of him are always there around me, but some small things like those audio cassettes refreshed the connection we shared. It was an emotional encounter with the past.
The old photo album....
On another corner of the shelf, my fingers felt the tattered edges of some book like substance. That was an old album. I pulled it out and as I turned the leaves of the album, it oozed beautiful captures from the yore. It had some old gem whose “behind the scene” stories I wish I knew. During some of those photographs I didn’t even exist and about those I am present, I am absolutely clueless. I found pictures of my Nani from her heydays, my Mom and her siblings when they were kids, my Dad’s photograph from his mountaineering camp, my Dadu and his four brothers, and of course some photographs of the little me with uncle-aunties and solo. Like I have already said, I wish I knew what led to those pictures. For example, what exactly was going on in my two youngest aunts’ mind, when they posed by the huge dahlias in their garden, or why I was laughing so hard on my Dadu’s lap with both my grandparents flaunting big smiles and why in most pictures I looked so clueless (now my friends know that I didn’t acquire the clueless nature but was born with it...)? And then another special photograph was that of the favourite cousin of mine and me as he pulled me around in my tricycle. This photo actually reminded me of an instance that happened much later, when I grew up a little. I remembered how he used to take me on his bicycle and show me around the alleys, the huge trees, the big pond and fields where he loved to hang out. Sometimes such simple thing like an old photo album, can take us through an ocean of emotions.
The slam book from school.....
As school life was approaching the end, almost everyone in the class got a slam book to be filled up by their friends and classmates (that was before smart phones and selfies took over). Therefore, by ritual I too got one for the tiny circle I had (and the rest f the pages were filled by random people from my batch). Well, let me confess this now, the sole purpose of the slam book was to get it filled by the one and only crush (whom I even shared with my bestie) in school (winks*). I have been a loner ever since with very few friends around, so to say “good with all, friends with (almost) none”. However, the pages occupied by the crush, the friends or the random people eventually turned insignificant. Only one page mattered and that was the one filled by my BFF (since the time we knew each other). It mattered so much specially because it had her landline number which kept us connected as we could hardly see each other (thanks to the common point of view of our strict parents that considered meeting friends as waste of time). Basically I could have done without that slam book of mine. But I’m glad I had that else this article would have been deprived of one memory. So to say the slam book brought back all the memories of the stupid me (that doesn’t at all imply that I’m less stupid now) the one gem of a friend I brought along from school.
The treasure of books....
And I bump into some lost (forgotten as well) and the pleasure was no less than bumping onto some priceless treasure. Those were the collection from my school days. My Dad instilled this habit of reading in me at a very early age and since then I have been collecting books (though in the recent years this habit unfortunately seemed to have marred down). I got these books mostly from book fairs and book exhibitions, some held at school as well. There is book named Anjali and her magic needle and other stories, then there is Panchatantra, Famous Five, Nancy Drew stories, The Swiss Family Robinson, some Bengali folk tales and short stories, books in Hindi and Assamese as well, horror stories and also the fair share of Archies and Tinkle comics. I even found a pocket book version of Wuthering Heights (one of my favourite novels till date). I remember how I used to read them by sneaking them inside school books (I’m sure all of us have done that). Such nostalgia old books can bring back. And their smell...I love that earthy smell of old (or new) books. So the first thing I did after finding these books was to breath in their fragrance. And now I’m re-reading all of them, reminiscing childhood as well as that innocent and uncomplicated self.
Yes, they are simple things and as I earlier mentioned, they are no life changing events, yet they fill us with so many mixed emotions and they as a matter of fact gave me a kind of fulfilling experience. May be they will take the backseat once again and the impression they have on my mind will gradually fade and once again I’ll be oblivious to their materialistic existence. However, this fleeting yet fulfilling experience I had will be a matter of significance forever.
In the journey of life some people come to leave, things are possessed to be disposed, some moments are lived to create memories and some memories are created to get buried under the stacks of time. Some memories brightly shine and showcased in the shelf of time, reminding the moments associated, however good or bad (with equal fervour), while some just sit at the back of the shelf, in one of the deepest corner, existing yet making us oblivion to their existence. However, those taking the backseats are not any insignificant instances to have lived. Neither were they some huge grandeur of events (at least not all). These moments were simple, subtle affairs, which might not be life changing yet they have a lot of meaning attached to them. These memories are like that hint of fragrance that comes along a sudden brush of breeze, creates some ripples in your senses and vanishes in an instant.
On my recent cleaning spree, I stumbled upon such myriad memories.
Sounds from the past....
As I unlocked one of the cabinets, an avalanche of memories rolled down at the sight. I have been an ardent music lover since the time I can remember and this cabinet lives a prove to it. There were hundreds of audio cassettes stacked there. (Yes, audio cassettes, the taped audio cassettes with sides A and B, mostly with around eight songs!) I remember as a kid, how I used to nag my Mama (specially!) to get me those songs that I loved. Interestingly from one cassette I hardly listened to one or two songs, those that were popular and those that led me to buy those albums. Nevertheless there were some cassettes where all the songs were beautifully composed (there were few of such!). Gradually as I grew up and started receiving pocket money, all my money used to go to the music store. However, the most special part of finding these cassettes is that, I found those cassettes that my favourite brother, my cousin gave me, with his name inscribed on the covers. The favourite cousin of mine whom we lost in an accident and he left us so early for his heavenly abode, connected with me more than his siblings. We grew up together and may be that is why I never missed a sibling even being a lone child of my parents. Memories of him are always there around me, but some small things like those audio cassettes refreshed the connection we shared. It was an emotional encounter with the past.
The old photo album....
On another corner of the shelf, my fingers felt the tattered edges of some book like substance. That was an old album. I pulled it out and as I turned the leaves of the album, it oozed beautiful captures from the yore. It had some old gem whose “behind the scene” stories I wish I knew. During some of those photographs I didn’t even exist and about those I am present, I am absolutely clueless. I found pictures of my Nani from her heydays, my Mom and her siblings when they were kids, my Dad’s photograph from his mountaineering camp, my Dadu and his four brothers, and of course some photographs of the little me with uncle-aunties and solo. Like I have already said, I wish I knew what led to those pictures. For example, what exactly was going on in my two youngest aunts’ mind, when they posed by the huge dahlias in their garden, or why I was laughing so hard on my Dadu’s lap with both my grandparents flaunting big smiles and why in most pictures I looked so clueless (now my friends know that I didn’t acquire the clueless nature but was born with it...)? And then another special photograph was that of the favourite cousin of mine and me as he pulled me around in my tricycle. This photo actually reminded me of an instance that happened much later, when I grew up a little. I remembered how he used to take me on his bicycle and show me around the alleys, the huge trees, the big pond and fields where he loved to hang out. Sometimes such simple thing like an old photo album, can take us through an ocean of emotions.
The slam book from school.....
As school life was approaching the end, almost everyone in the class got a slam book to be filled up by their friends and classmates (that was before smart phones and selfies took over). Therefore, by ritual I too got one for the tiny circle I had (and the rest f the pages were filled by random people from my batch). Well, let me confess this now, the sole purpose of the slam book was to get it filled by the one and only crush (whom I even shared with my bestie) in school (winks*). I have been a loner ever since with very few friends around, so to say “good with all, friends with (almost) none”. However, the pages occupied by the crush, the friends or the random people eventually turned insignificant. Only one page mattered and that was the one filled by my BFF (since the time we knew each other). It mattered so much specially because it had her landline number which kept us connected as we could hardly see each other (thanks to the common point of view of our strict parents that considered meeting friends as waste of time). Basically I could have done without that slam book of mine. But I’m glad I had that else this article would have been deprived of one memory. So to say the slam book brought back all the memories of the stupid me (that doesn’t at all imply that I’m less stupid now) the one gem of a friend I brought along from school.
The treasure of books....
And I bump into some lost (forgotten as well) and the pleasure was no less than bumping onto some priceless treasure. Those were the collection from my school days. My Dad instilled this habit of reading in me at a very early age and since then I have been collecting books (though in the recent years this habit unfortunately seemed to have marred down). I got these books mostly from book fairs and book exhibitions, some held at school as well. There is book named Anjali and her magic needle and other stories, then there is Panchatantra, Famous Five, Nancy Drew stories, The Swiss Family Robinson, some Bengali folk tales and short stories, books in Hindi and Assamese as well, horror stories and also the fair share of Archies and Tinkle comics. I even found a pocket book version of Wuthering Heights (one of my favourite novels till date). I remember how I used to read them by sneaking them inside school books (I’m sure all of us have done that). Such nostalgia old books can bring back. And their smell...I love that earthy smell of old (or new) books. So the first thing I did after finding these books was to breath in their fragrance. And now I’m re-reading all of them, reminiscing childhood as well as that innocent and uncomplicated self.
Yes, they are simple things and as I earlier mentioned, they are no life changing events, yet they fill us with so many mixed emotions and they as a matter of fact gave me a kind of fulfilling experience. May be they will take the backseat once again and the impression they have on my mind will gradually fade and once again I’ll be oblivious to their materialistic existence. However, this fleeting yet fulfilling experience I had will be a matter of significance forever.
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