Just a mirror for the sun
scribbles about a commonplace existence.Archive for familiarity
In loving memory of…
Familiarity does indeed breed contempt. When you live so long with another person, even someone that you deeply love, you begin to see only the faults. So often, especially when we’re young and have time to spend with people we like, we tend to do too much of it. Conversation begins to trickle down to hardly anything and there isn’t much left to discover in each other. Especially when you’re thrown into such close proximity that your lives begin to entwine themselves into each other and turn into a seething mass of emotions that normally would barely get a second glance but with such intimacy, turn into pressing issues that can’t be ignored. And then you forget why you liked them to start with… all the good things that made you love them seem inconsequential suddenly, and all you want is to run as far away as possible but you don’t think you can leave them behind.
So, you leave the compliments unsaid – they already know you love them, right? Or they wouldn’t be so involved in your life. You forget to mention that they look pretty today, or that their work was appreciated. Because you know there’ll be another day, another time… perhaps when they’re less annoying?
And that day fades into nothing. Again, the process of forgetting the good. Humanity has a wonderful way of completely overlooking the positive as commonplace and harping on the negative. And we’re all human. So many times, I meant to say ‘I love you’ or ‘I like the way you’re looking’ or anything at all… Say something.
Apparently that was my grandmother’s advice to my mom – give completely and don’t expect anything in return. Don’t let pride stop you from giving. And one day, when you need it, it’ll wash over your soul. Her last coherent action, the day before she passed away was to pull us all together – my parents, my brother and me – and the look on her face as she saw us all will stay with me as long as I can hold on to it, protecting it from Memory’s wily reach.
The magic in your soul
There is always that sense of Belonging; a feeling that I’m home, when I’m in this town. It’s everything. It’s been seven years since I left but I remember every minute of the time spent here. I, of the notoriously horrendous memory, remember every glorious instance in technicolor detail. It’s not that I led a very charmed life here and it most certainly wasn’t extraordinary but, in it’s own way, it was perfection. And it is this perfection that keeps me safe. It is the lazy contentment of warm afternoons spent laying about a friend’s house surrounded by constant movement – dogs, cats, fish, everything. A warmth that I haven’t found elsewhere; a genuine care for another soul. A place of aimless drives and endless conversation. A place that accepts you as you are and takes you into it’s all-encompassing fold. A sense of peaceful lethargy sinks into your bones and everything is like molasses – sweet and slow-moving. This town hardly ever changes. It’s heart is still R.S Puram, it’s Strip is still Race Course and comfort is always Vadavalli. Sai Baba colony is the home to all those industrious, god-fearing families that make this town their home. Even the Wigg Centre for all manufactured hair requirements remains unchanging with the wonderfully tamilian santa claus standing guard to the little ramshackle hut that functions as headquarters for this enterprise. There is, of course, the mandatory Barista and Coffee Day as well the Bikes and even a Subway, but unlike the City [*shudder*], these places hardly matter. Freedom is what I identify most with memories of this place – the freedom to roam around till 2 am and not have to worry about the urban horrors that may jump in your path around the next turn; freedom to have a lazy cigarette at home, with the family, and not worry about parents or elders appearing from behind the furniture to catch you in that despicable act because they’d be sitting next to you, probably rolling a joint. It is the City [*shudder*] that seems to outlaw things that are commonplace here. I am beginning to feel a deep loathing for the City[*shudder*] these days. It seems to turn most sane, rational people into little terrors and turn the everyday into terrible crimes.
However, I do think that the reason I love home so much is because I don’t live here. If I did, I’m sure I would loathe it as much. Familiarity breeds contempt. And memory has a wonderful way of painting over the bad times and highlighting the good. I’m just glad I have a home to come to when the City [*shudder*] gets too much for a poor soul like me. Lawl.
