My Memories

It has never ceased to amaze me how vastly complex and layered memories can be. My memories of incidents or people that have touched me greatly either positively or negatively are so clear and detailed that even after a dozen years I could put them down in words that evoke the exact sentiment I felt when I was living through those moments. It is a mixed blessing however. The happy moments don’t fade with time – there is no sepia tinge to those frozen captures. And yet the sad moments can fill my eyes years later – there is no softening of the edges of pain or at least there is a gradual softening but the intensity of those moments never leave me. No I am not living in the past – I talk of only those memories that are in my trunk – the ones that will not leave if I move house or change everything else about me – I am talking about those dusty and not so dusty relics of times that I have never quite relinquished. Some days I still climb the stairs to that attic – those days when I am in the mood to dream.

Memories are unique and they are very personal. I have memories that are shared with others because the happy or sad moments involved them as well. But our memories of those moments are never quite the same. Is it because our perceptions when we lived through them were different? Is it because my ability to remember is sharper? Is it because the degree of intensity experienced by each is not the same at all? Or is it merely that over time, as you change, as your thought processes change, your memories too undergo a transformation?

How do you explain to someone else the fragility and beauty of a memory that you have shared with them? How do you elaborate on the disappointment you feel when the other simply doesn’t remember the way you do? How do you handle the feeling of being let down when you realize that some moments you have cherished deeply turn out to be just pleasant and perhaps diverting moments for others? Memories cannot be shared truly – they are yours and yours alone – keep them close to your heart and never relive them in the presence of others – there’s always a chance that you get hurt and lose the joy in those memories for all time.

When I think of say, an unhappy childhood incident so many years later, I can remember the scent of the air, the look in my eyes, the feel of the sorrow that envelops my heart like a heavy wet blanket. My whole being bows under the weight of the emotion. I see the incident replayed like a movie. Memories are little collages of scent, taste, touch, sound, feel and emotion. And therefore they are easy to trigger – how many times has the scent of jasmine brought home to me the holidays at my grandmother’s place in the village, or the notes of a song reminded me of a tender moment or the feel of a baby’s skin flooded me with warm memories of my babies asleep with drops of their mother’s milk still trickling out of the corners of their little lips!

Every aspect of a memory is significant for me. The place, the people involved, the emotions felt, the words spoken or left unsaid – all these are held together and sealed into a tight little bundle in my mind. When I unwrap the bundle years or maybe just days later, a glowing tapestry spills out with its vivid colours and intricate craftsmanship. The beauty or sadness of that memory is forever preserved, woven into the threads of the tapestry that I have created in my mind. The idea that these memories have not the same place in another’s mind is painful but also perhaps somewhat liberating – for I have learnt that they are now not to be shared, they are and forever will be mine alone.