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Farewell Dear Twenties

A life of relative comfort – absence of war and poverty – affords lapses of nostalgia. Recollections from the past are often mistaken for a longing to return. Re-visitations are but consequences of memory – flashbacks, if you will. The imprints seem to rewrite themselves ever so slightly every time they present themselves – forever rewriting the emotions evoked. 


The past is a different country, and contains a different self. Or properly said, contains so many iterations of the self, that the idea of being one with it seems to be evidenced only in the perceived continuity of the body, and its acknowledgement by others. It is apt that the mother tongue grants the plural first-person pronoun “हम” – addressing all the past selves with the present in the present. Visiting and residing in other cultures could not change that (as it does for most) as it silently accommodates the inner dissensions. 


Turning thirty is supposed to be an important life-event. Maybe a dramatic change will happen and the dissonance with self will magically resolve on that mysterious day. Most probably not! Having said that, there is some relief that the years have brought. The raging paradoxical mode of existence gathered during the teens was dropped. The idealism of twenties passed away as well. Each life lesson hopefully created a new discarded self – a lesson learnt! A Dexter in creation of an unknown image, no slides just selves for trophies. 


In this fracas, recollections would be a horror for the weak. A vast space of burning dead is seen, while holding the present identity in hand. This too shall pass away! “I” relieves itself of burdens and keeps becoming another. The ultimate home of the self – the “I” – becomes Heraclitus’ River. Is the sense of self, then, a reliable venue from where life could be operated? 


Soon, a farewell to the 20s! Here it leads. Whereto? How far?

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