I often rekindle my romance with my past, my childhood and the crazy little things that filled me with joy.
I more often than not feel full of remorse when I compare today from tomorrow.
I am old school or am I turning old, I hold on to anything that connects me with my fading youth.
I am all of 27, not very old. But I think I have an old soul.
These are the random thoughts that create a mesh in my mind and heart all the time. I think of childhood to such extents like I live in it even today.
Childhood was a wonder.
Childhood was to play.
Childhood saw promise of days after days
It meant freedom that all our hearts pined for. It meant being able to go to cinema, to stroll the by lanes that were lesser known. Childhood meant hopes, youth and aspirations.
They say that the grass is always greener on the other side. The child in me pined to pace up my growing year’s, and here I am yearning to go back. There are things that need to be undone. There are things that needed to be said then. They were steps to be taken backwards. Steps to make amends.
The randomness of it all is that while all I wish to do with my past is to make amends to most of it, I still hold on it. I wonder about the reason behind this connect. Aah! It’s the promise of youth or is it the simplicity of life and a heart bright and young that hasn’t tired itself already?! Or is it the era that I miss?!
Today seems cosmetic. Today is crazy. Today is running, sometimes with me and mostly way ahead of me. It’s a tiring run against dreams of the years gone by and what I really set to achieve. Sometimes I am happy living in today and sometimes how I regret it. I find peace in old advertisements, flip through albums and raise my eyebrows with a silent chuckle remembering an old anecdote.
Oh! I have anecdotes. They are from Delhi as it was in 91, they are from Allahabad way before malls touched base there, and they are from Patna where time seemed to have come to a permanent stand still.
I live in two parallel universes. I live in my past but reside in my future. And while I ponder as to my identity, I remember these lines by Ruskin Bond- “It’s not time that passes by. It’s you and I.”