I don’t know why I am writing this in the middle of a work day. It’s not like I was hit by a fucking brain-wave, nor has anything life-altering happened. Well not today at least. Between the last post and now; I have resigned from my esteemed organisation, was mocked by my boss (endearingly as always), ate out for a week and feel bloated now, congratulated a dear friend for getting through one of the most prestigious exams in the country, discussed Darknet with C and established that buying fake passports simply because they seem cheap is a particularly stupid idea. Where does one even pick up these fake passports? It’s not like you can give them your office address to deliver these pieces of forged art. Sigh.
So why am I writing this now? Because I felt like it. And if I dont, I will forget about what I wanted to say, and write about something else entirely tomorrow, or the day after. Ever since I started this blog, I feel like a 16 year old who just spoke to his college crush. Well not in the pubesceral sighing-while-feeling-the-stomach-implode-and-cheeks-turn-red manner. But the excitement is quite comparable. Every once in a while I keep thinking of random shit which can be, with enough English, turned into a half decent post. I don’t know if it is making me a better writer, but it sure as hell is entertaining to see how a single idea about my death made me spew out a long-ass post (Refer: Epitaph). I may one day write about serious stuff; like maps, urban regeneration, and cycling. Or just cycling. I could live with that.
So, Forgetting. I think it has mucho charmo. Sure the ability to recreate precise accounts of the past is nice, and makes for very impressive party conversations, but I don’t think it bodes too well for inter-personal relationships or individual development. Not everything that you experienced is particularly pleasant, or memorable for the right reasons. Sometimes, forgetting is a good thing, almost welcome. I agree that between forgetting and forgiving, the latter is the more noble and a prudent choice. But, personally I doubt whether I could do the latter without the former being their in some form at least.
None of this can be taken as my official stance on the issue. And not everything should be forgotten. OK! This is getting damn serious. I almost considered writing about an amnesic electorate, people repeatedly getting in not-so-healthy-relationships, societies forgetting the vigilance which is imperative for a healthy democracy. Honestly speaking, I lack the qualifications to even cursorily comment on any one of those issues. I should just tell you about how I forget things far too fast. It has its benefits; i dont stay affected too long, find better things to brood about, and there is always a new shit-storm around the corner. There are trade-offs though; I never learn 🙂
In case you feel like watching something significantly disturbing about the topic, do watch the ‘The Entire History of You’ episode from season 1 of the beautifully dystopian Black Mirror series.
So, yes. Forget if you must, forget if you mustn’t. Let people state different things over time, or be a stickler for ‘that thing you said two weeks ago, or even in 1995’. Learn lessons from the past, or don’t. I don’t know. Really I dont. Do what you want.
Now see this wasn’t the point of this post in the first place. I started writing because I wanted to share something. While I have gone into considerable detail about forgetting, there are certain things I would definitely not want to forget. In a sense, the ‘remember where you come from and never forget your roots’ shit is probably responsible for most of the dissonance I have ever felt in life. That and ‘were you raised this way?’ debate that constantly rages inside. Quite fucking annoying it is, but I think it is here to stay. So I may as well cherish what I remember; listening to my father narrate life stories, ducking random things hurled in my general direction by my mother (partly out of love and partly wondering how I was such a stupid son), attempting to assault my brother and failing miserably, sitting on my grandfather’s shoulder every evening to watch trains go by in a great distance, taking care of my once indomitable grandmother as she grew older and weaker, the excitement at the prospect of getting a new cycle, the disappointment of seeing the cycle I got (much lulz), the joy of cycling to school and back, racing to the nearest water-body in the summers to find peculiarly stupid ways of jumping in, my run-ins with the church (this will require a separate post), the catholic troika (Christmas, Good Friday, and Easter), and food. The fucking food. Damn, I miss everything now.
I started writing this post because I found this video and it reminded me of home. The video is in Konkani*, which is not the same as the dialect used back home, but is just as funky. It is a spectacularly ridiculous video (I kid you not!), and takes pop-culture very very seriously. And apologies for a very rambling post.
*Konkani apparently is quite the bomb language. Here! Take some academic low-down.
Ps:OK apparently sharing Facebook videos is quite a pain. Will figure it out and embed it soon. Sorry sorry.
I was quite a potato. But now I have figured this out. Enjoy!