I've been writing posts dedicated to December for a couple of years now...it's a month when I am able to return home, sans marking, exonerated from the whirlwind of an existence I lead in another land, a time when I can give myself up in complete surrender to the days of childhood which have slipped me by, to the years of adolescence which have waltzed by ere I could pick up the rhythm of the dance, and just envelop myself in the warmth of the walls which are silhouetted with memories and fledgling dreams and hopes. The end of the year lends itself to moments of calm reflection and deep introspection over the year that was...the feathers it may have added, on so many levels, on the cap of one's life...it is the time for laughing, for no particular reason, a season of innocent revelry, innocent because it's devoid of tangible expectation, which one might find unavoidable in most professional/ academic scenarios...every year, I come back to the same home, the same city, in the grip of time's relentless brush, I see an added wrinkle on the face of a loved one, a slight crease of smiling eyes, a more pronounced limp in someone's walk, a wall slowly discolouring with the onslaught of days...and I also notice renovations, repair, creation, new constructions...I try to find the familiar amidst the inevitability of change, to draw comfort from the blanket of untarnished emotions which cover the realm where I can never return.
And if I look upon the city through the eyes of a dearly loved one,who is slowly witnessing the nuances of the city I call home, I feel like I'm gazing upon everything for the first time, through a curtain of familiarity, juxtaposed with the wonder of discovery...the feeling of disorientation mingles with exhilaration...to hold someone's hand and take the person back with me, to relive the childhood which we can now both experience, through the narration of simple life events, pointing out never-quite-forgotten by-lanes, manufacturing precious memories in unfamiliar shops which will remain ever etched in the mind's canvas, associated with certain spaces, memories tucked into the corners of particular places...and then one's consciousness, one's remembrances and the other person's sincere eagerness and genuine interest and generosity of spirit, can amalgamate and form a time machine like no other...and Time becomes continuous, running parallel to its many planes, at once in the past, seated in the present and hopeful of a sanguine future, a repository of shared revelations .
And if I look upon the city through the eyes of a dearly loved one,who is slowly witnessing the nuances of the city I call home, I feel like I'm gazing upon everything for the first time, through a curtain of familiarity, juxtaposed with the wonder of discovery...the feeling of disorientation mingles with exhilaration...to hold someone's hand and take the person back with me, to relive the childhood which we can now both experience, through the narration of simple life events, pointing out never-quite-forgotten by-lanes, manufacturing precious memories in unfamiliar shops which will remain ever etched in the mind's canvas, associated with certain spaces, memories tucked into the corners of particular places...and then one's consciousness, one's remembrances and the other person's sincere eagerness and genuine interest and generosity of spirit, can amalgamate and form a time machine like no other...and Time becomes continuous, running parallel to its many planes, at once in the past, seated in the present and hopeful of a sanguine future, a repository of shared revelations .
