I don’t have a clue, when I fell in love, my first memory of my love dates back to my six or seven years of age, when I first saw my parent’s wedding album. I regretted being not there and determinedly decided that I would sure want my kids to witness my wedding. Brings a stupid smile now. But, Why not???
Well coming back to the wedding album, It was the pictures that I loved the most, The coarse feel of the black and white pictures neatly arranged in the black charts, beautifully bound gives an almost nauseating nostalgic look which slyly creeps into me, making me feel want to live in the bygone times. It is the frozen memories of the past, well hidden from the Wheel of time.
I go to greater extents and take risks to collect copies of photographs of my people. I greatly pester people for their photos, for which many don’t have a clue why I should go gaga over photos. Believe me I have albums of many with me. Somehow I feel a magical connection of going down the memory lane and reliving them when I see the photographs. When I see those pictures, I see their childhood and adolescence unfolding before me- letting me get a glimpse of all the missing pieces that I had only imagined. They affect me in a strange way; I feel neither sadness nor anger for having missed living with them in their yesteryear lives. For I always love to grow up with people.
When I see my parents wedding album, I get a thousand thoughts. Well, for first thing it is love before marriage, then accepted at last by their parents and an arranged marriage. I wonder how my dad would have felt being the groom, knowing that he would be spending the rest of his life, with the person he loved so much. Did he really think then, that he would have a son, who would be writing about his wedding in a blog? How would have my mom felt? Had she ever looked him into his eyes and smiled with a mischievous twinkle full of love? Did she ever have the clue that she is going to be the mom of a son, who considers himself a treasure of their cherished love and wedded bliss?
Well the photograph speaks, each picture has got a thousand stories to tell, If you’re ever a willing patient listener, listen to someone ramble about their youth and blessed will be you, if they have photographs with them when they tell their tales of loved and lived lives. But for me, photographs are just not the magic alone. It is their youth and more importantly having lived their youth in 70s and 80s which I personally consider the golden/classic/ best of times in life.
I am thoroughly in love with the art and literature of 70s and 80s. Be it the movies/music/pictures/literature/persons/advertisements/Television serials, nothing beats the magic of those times for me. May be the black and white print gives a lived-in authenticity to them, And till my ten years of age I believed that Life was in black and white or in grey in 70s and 80s. I visualize how the mountains, lakes and greeneries would have looked in black and white. I visualize life in the metros, sub-urban, abroad and villages alike. I visualize how people would have spent their young and old life in 70s and 80s.
I feel a tugging at my heart with a painful lump forming in my throat and I sigh heavily till the tingling tinge fades away in me. How much I wish, I want to live my life in such a period. I get jealous at people who have lived/spent their youth in those times. Certain Golden olden movies rekindle my longings and stir my heart, making me nostalgic for the past which doesn’t belong to me, a past I partly own. I smile knowing inside that, though I didn’t live then, I belong there completely.
For the simple reason, I believe life was simpler then, people were inherently good and people had time for life’s little things, everyday chattering were part of life then, people had time for humane interactions; families had time for dinners and for gatherings at terrace after dinner, casual acquaintances was more happening than social networking. Neighborhood and life in government quarters gave people to come-together and rejoice in camaraderie. Life was less mechanical, people certainly had the humane touch and more than anything, people wrote letters. Yeah I know, I whine here. But accept me. Just once in your life, realize what I’ve fallen for. Take a paper and write a letter to a dear one, at least a text mail. You will know the magic for yourself.
That was the time when life was not commercialized. I greatly believe that the art of those days celebrated love, people and the human spirit. I believe I’m made of that and made for that. I precisely conclude I’m a person who still live in the black and white times, pen and paper days. My world still counts in 70s and 80s. I take everything possible of me to make life more momentous and memorable with just people and people around. As I know, I’m born to love and I live now to love.
பருவ வயதின் கனவிலே பறந்து திரியும் மனங்களே கவி பாடுங்கள், உறவாடுங்கள்.
“To those hearts, fluttering their dreams in the youth. Sing poems of life and love and celebrate them. “