Of a memory


There is that special moment(and many of these) which gets etched in our memory for the rest of our life. It carries no reason, no aftereffect for it to be remembered, but a quality beyond words. Such moment is by no means unusual, it can be as simple as our mom smiling at us. It is an extra dimension which makes that smile, though we might have seen her smile thousands of time, but that particular smile on that particular moment, catch something more than our eyes. When we recollect such a moment, it unravels itself slowly, like a melodious symphony, like a dawning sun, like it will be a sin to rush through its magnificence.

We are aware right when such a moment is enacting itself in front of us, more than aware. Be it listening to a song with college friends in a dorm or feeling the pulse of your ninety-six year old grandma or just observing a small snail on a fresh rainy day, there is an extravagance in such moments so unique that it glues them to our memory. This extravagance is a product of acknowledgement. Acknowledgement of its imperfect beauty, of its fragile existence, of the cold certainty that it will be wiped off from the face of the earth, this enchanting moment of which you are the sole spectator.


Sweet medley of dew drops, grass and mud engulfed us. We were cutting through the grass fields on a bike as chills were racing back through our veins. Grey grass ahead, grey grass behind. Moon shone above us like our watchdog. As if he was inherently involved in our secret. Like he had silently and proudly offered us his shelter. As if he will warn us if anyone attempts to poke and burst our perfect bubble as unreal as a beautiful dream.

As we plunged ahead, leaving our chains behind, I looked back. A magical scene beheld my eyes. Long blades of grass were closing on us. The small path we were bolting on was disappearing in those tall grey tresses.

He asked, “Why are you looking back?” I did not answer. This beauty of time unraveling before me was one of those moments. It was beautiful in its existence, never to resurrect.

My phone rang. It was a college senior. I thought how innocently has he intruded my memory which is and will be so close to my heart for the rest of my existence.



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