Today in the attic, while I was rummaging for something I don’t remember what anymore, I ended up meeting my old memories. My lovely old memories… without my knowing, the past has become sweet like sitting in the sun in winters.
Turning pages after pages of my notebook that I have still not parted with, I felt how crazy I was. I doodled a lot. Mad designs picked from books, paintings, comics, magazines… registered half in my mind. Up and down, criss cross, darkening the line, circling round and round, a flower, going zigzag boldly… all of this, especially in Mr. Gosh’s class.
I found some cards and letters and read all of them, once again. It was so overwhelming that I thought of calling Naro. It has been so long. Years fly by silently with celebration of two or three festivals, an unplanned trip to some place and a quiet acceptance of a lesson learned.
I always think that we change with time and we do change, but we actually remain the same, changing slightly…. Oh! A paradox!
Anyways, I just emailed Naro. I think she is using the same email id. No, I am not going to wait for an instant reply. But why didn’t I call her? Tricky time, have mercy on me.
Almost forgot! Before I left the attic, I found Rabindranath Tagore in one of my notebooks. I copied him from a book in the library. A kind of sketch… some lines, running here and there, curving and darkening a bit… and there he was, Rabindranath Tagore, in my notebook. What a magical human being!
Whatever he wrote feels so alive as if he inked his soul in every word, every line, every character. He is like music to me, grand, subtle, heartwarming, serene and timeless. That’s the word for him… timeless.
I guess we all become timeless in some way for someone, but only a few remain timeless forever for everyone.