Spun Sugar

Our college just completed its bi-annual fun-fair, where I got, among a host of other things, the opportunity to re-live at least one aspect of my childhood. The moment a whiff of cotton candy greeted my nose, I followed its enticing aroma through the whirlpool of food and game stalls which our college had become, and eagerly tip-toed my way up to two girls who were selling cotton candy, spinning crystals of sugar on that familiar, almost spherical (mostly round) machine, waiting for the cobwebby texture of the sweet treat to appear, before adroitly winding it around long sticks, coaxing it into a semblance of compact coherence. As I waited with increasing anticipation, for that melt in the mouth, smear-all over the face sensation to end up in my hands, my mind began to spin, much like the machine itself...centrifugal force, is it? And I had to, in spite of myself, draw an analogy with Life itself, and how its myriad events have spun around me, adding layers, weaving disparate dreams, each incident wrapping itself around another, to endow me with some sort of an identity...the spin of development, physical, emotional, cognitive and perhaps even spiritual, wove itself around the corners of my mind...and in the midst of this sudden reverie, the tangible and edible cotton candy was ready for me to devour, and, as I happily tripped my way back to my staff room, I realised that the moisture of the air ( or so methinks), was causing the wispy delight to shrink, to diminish...and my thoughts went back to a long ago day in Calcutta, temporally and geographically far removed from my present space, when my Grandfather had taken me out on our annual pandal hopping Spree in Kolkata...we would make our trip to the Park Circus Pandal during Durga Puja, which was near our Mayfair Road home, and he would firmly hold on to my little hand, because we were both petrified of losing each other in the chaotic crowd. Every year, my family would dress me up in some starchy new dress, a pre-requisite for greeting Ma Durga, and when I was deemed ready enough, my grandfather and I would patiently listen to a host of safety instructions from my mum and granny, before setting out into the sea of human energy which thronged the city streets. At Park Circus, we made our visit to the pandal first, to pay our loving respect to the Goddess who had undertaken an arduous journey from the Kailash, to visit and bless our land...and one particular year, we were both very moved to see that Ramesh Pal, the sculptor, had deviated from the usual model of Ma Durga's weapon piercing the evil asura...instead, the asura was shown pleading for mercy, his hands folded, his head bowed, his eyes repentant, while the Goddess generously blessed him with all her goodness...after folding our hands in prayer, we would head out to the carnival like fair, which was held adjacent to the pandal...where a riot of colour, noise and pushing and shoving encountered us...and I would beg to be taken on a few of the rides...and then I would give my grandad, 'THAT' look, which quietly implied, "it's candy floss time..." and he always obliged my little whim, in fact he obliged so many little whims, such as buying me a balloon everyday, for the longest time...but that one time, after he bought me the candy floss, he refused to let me eat it in that crowd, deeming it unhygienic and insisted that we walk out to the emptier road, before I laid my hands on it...but in the midst of all the bustle, he forgot to ask the weaver to put it into an air-tight plastic bag, but rather he carried it over his head, far above my reach, till we reached the outside of the 'mela...' by the time he handed it to me, it had shrunk to a quarter of its size, in fact, it was almost gone, with condensed, pink, liquidy crystals just about clinging in desparation to one another, blinking bravely back at me...I must have been about 6 years old, maybe 7, and I remember having howled in sadness all the way home, because it no longe resembled or even tasted like the soft, pink cloud I was used to... And this brings me back to the present moment again, as too much nostalgia, amidst the realm of grown ups, might well up in me an inexplicable desire to linger longingly in the bubble of the Past, (that which is never quite gone, but that which is never quite there...I can almost reach it, but never quite, so alluring and evasive it is)...is Life, then, akin to cotton candy? As we spin through it, or rather it spins around us, we keep growing, not just physically, but in all aspects of our existence...and once we stop that motion, and are exposed to a lull, a pause (repesented by the water vapour in air;)) do we become rather flaccid, shrink, almost diminish? What does this spinning motion imply? That we have to lead excessively hectic, frenetic paced lives, in order to grow and 'prosper?' Or rather, as I would hope with all my heart, does it mean that we shouldn't stop spinning our dreams, cultivating our hopes and nurturing our aspirations, making friends, entering meaningful, multi-dimensional relationships, and motivating our passions, egging on our wills, until the crystals of all such thoughts take on a tangible shape, are woven into an attainable, if fleetingly temporary reality? The sugar crystals, to me, seem to represent all the people I've known, all the incidents I've encountered, all the houses I've moved to, all the pillows I've slept on, all the books I've read, the characters I've met, the places I've loved, all the mistakes I've encountered, the faults I've tried and try everyday to rectify, the fears I've harboured, the hopes I've treasured, the stories I've created, the truths I've taught myself to believe...among a range of other things...and these are the ingredients of our lives, with which our identities are spun, and just as moisture almost deflates the pink mass, time will eat away at most of the superfluous layers around us, until we are left with only the sugar crystals which mean the most to us, which we value and prize the most... ranging from an unforgettable memory,the inexplicable satisfaction of a job sincerely done, a goose-bump inducing touch, a faint smell from the cupboards of the past, the sensation of a re-visited emotion, the stirring sentiment behind a tear, the beauty of vulnerability, the assurance of strength, the lessons of disillusionment, and the magnificent hope of a new, slowly unfurling dream, the varied texture of a bond (chemical, metallic, covalent, emotional, spiritual, physical): "What will we take along with us? If at all we do? What has become so ingrained in ourselves, That losing it, we will rue?" Just a meditation I wished to ponder upon, in the midst of a hustling and bustling work day.