Pritam's Blog
Insignificant Memories And A Tale Of A Thousand Deaths
Photos of old Bangalore reminds me of you. Like photos of the 70s and 80s. Maybe even older.
It doesn’t make sense at all, does it? I mean forget the 70s and 80s when neither of us was born. You do not even have any connection with the Bangalore of late 2000s and the whole of 2010s.
Upon pondering, I realized probably it is your lack of connection with a place where I have spent most of my adulthood that reminds me of you.
Like it or not, that I spent my childhood and teenage in the same time-space as yours has moulded me in some way or the other which are not in the scope of this post.
What is in the scope are the things that I remember of you…
The other day you said that you were not a good kid and it got me into thinking. And I realized that given a chance to go back in time, I would still want to be your friend, a better one probably…
I remember how dull and socially-awkward I was as a kid. I wasn’t smart and coping in a class of bullies was extremely difficult for me. I used to skip school a lot.
One day, I skipped school and the next day, when I came, you kept your notebook in my bag while I wasn’t around. This was the cutest thing that has ever happened with me.
This happened when we are in KG-2 or Class 1. And you were the same when we were in Class 10 - our last year together in school.
I remember, for our Geography tuition, a bunch of us went to some Priyabrata sir who lived near school. None of us actually continued going to him after the first few days I guess. Any idea why? Anyway, I couldn’t attend his first class. You did. And the next day in school, you just came in and handed me your notebook. There were many such incidents.
Class 10 wasn’t a very good time for me. Not because of the board exams and all. It was in that year we had moved to our new house. Prior to that, it was a joint family with around 20 people living in the same house. But now, with just four people, the fights between my parents became more obvious. Of course, the frequency too had increased.
Life at home was unbearable. At one point, I even contemplated running away. Come to think of it, it was childish and filmy but back then I was serious about it.
You said you troubled your parents a lot. For a long time, even I thought that I had troubled my parents. But now I think it was my parents who troubled me way more than I ever did to them…
Anyway, I remember I was talking about my plan at Sandeep sir’s house. Of course, nobody took me seriously. But you said, “Don’t do it.” That’s it. For some reasons, I felt like listening to you. And I did.
There’s one particular incident that I am a bit confused about. In one of our annual functions, you recited ‘Na Pathano Chithi’ as far as I remember. You said it was written by Jibonanondo Das. But wasn’t it written by Sunil Gangopadhyay? Or maybe you recited some other poem by Jibonanondo?
I have many such insignificant memories of you - some very vivid while others a bit hazy… like those old photographs of Bangalore.
I love this city. In the past 13 years, I have witnessed this city undergo immense changes. I liked some of the changes and some other changes bothered me…
Anyway, when I think of all these changes that I have witnessed in the past decade and half, it seems like the city died a bit every time a change happened.
This comparison with death doesn’t have any negative connotation by the way. If anything, it’s like the death of a Phoenix. It’s like the city grew out of itself, came out alive again after each death.
When I compare today’s Bengaluru with the Bangalore of old days from those photos, the changes seem more… And a part of me wishes to have witnessed those changes as well.
I think human relationships are similar. Don’t we, humans, change a lot? And aren’t these changes like death? Don’t we die a thousand times before we really kick the bucket?
And people who have been there with us for long period of time, don’t they witness these deaths and yet accept us after each reincarnation? There’s a certain kind of beauty in it, I guess.
The memories I have of you are from a certain period during which you didn’t undergo any significant change. I remember that you with fondness and yet, I wish I could witness your metamorphosis.
Photos of old Bangalore reminds me of you.
(Excerpt from my autobiographical novel, Letters From A Paper Tiger)