March 12, 2007 at 8:43 am | Posted in Nostalgia | Leave a comment

Give me just this one week at the end of which I will start getting nostalgic for the house I vacated to move into our own made to order duplex bungalow. Don’t be mislead by big words like Bungalow and all, because it is just a 1,450 Sq. Ft. house built on a plot measuring just 266 Sq. Yards.

I have always been given to nostalgia all my life. Believe me, I used to dream that I was a rich Russian in some previous incarnation. That was when I was in my teens. I belonged to a family with modest income and very simple lifestyles. I never even got any pocket money until my college days. I used to think about ballets, swan songs and fancy dresses befitting Russian nobility. I don’t know what prompted me to presume to be Russian wheras there were the English, Americans, Europeans, Arabs or the yellow races as they used to call the Chinese and Japanese types of people I might have been in my earlier incarnations.

Places, faces or objects switch on sudden nostalgic memories.  Long after I left Madurai to live in Madras, I used to long for the days when I climbed a small wall to enter our school grounds and join boys in playing football.  My elementary school days bring me memories of the prayer song and other songs we learned in the classes which I remember verbatim even now.  After we added the first floor structure to our Madras house, I used to have nostalgic memories of the open terrace of the previous ground floor structure, from where I used to gawk at and listen to the political meetings held on the street corners whenever elections approached.  I remember sleeping on the open terrace at night, and used to stare up at the sky for a long time, observing the bright stars and constellations and the occasional meteorites.

When I left Poona for good and returned to Madras, I carried a load of nostalgic memories.  For quite a few years after that I missed the choir, the nearness to Christianity and Jesus Christ, and the many members of the choir I used to meet every Sunday, though just one out of all them was my good friend.  Also I used to long for such musical life because I had my good friend sharing our room and he was a good Bass voiced fellow, and we had musical sessions when I will sing in my First Tenor voice and he will accompany me with chords on his guitar.  I learned many small music book songs and some movie songs too through him.

Wherever I lived I carried forward nostalgic memories.  Even a tobacconist shop is a nostalgic memory.  Fortunately for me, I have not indulged much in liquor much and never been to a bar.  That would have left awful memories too.  Nor was I very romantic, being a very untalented and unaccomplished fellow that I was then and even now.  Otherwise I would have been having fantasies about women too.

Now is the time when my nostalgia machinery will start ticking soon.  We will be leaving the house where my Kala had lived her last years with us.  Though I must confess that I will miss her only physically, because I remember her all the time, and I pray with her spirit every day for the safety and wellbeing of our children.


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