They hit you when you least expect it.
You feel lulled, put to sleep, exhausted. Life.
We all have head in the clouds and we run through life so fast that later we look back and realise we did not know where we were going, just that we were. Somewhere. Its always like that. My earliest memory of me is not being ejected out of my mother's womb but of a little girl being bathed by an assortment of people around her. And the moments crowd in sometimes. I write of them... and I remember and forget. What remains is this little sound.... and when we hear it we close our eyes and pretend we are sleeping and nothing can touch us. Me and Panu. We do that all the time.
14 comments:
My earliest memory of me is chewing a unusually large and funny looking green thing which i later learnt was called a 'leaf'.
The incident however, left my tongue in a state of being unable to taste anything for the next few days. That, and a lifetime of fear of unusually large leaves.
How've you been?
The earliest memory of soothing sounds I have.. is of ma singing lullabies and the soft thumpings on my back...
Hi, this is Abhik from the FoodScapes blog. Came here mainly to thank you for your comments. (Sounds like a sneer I know, but you get my drift, don't you?)
I have several early memories - sleeping on my grandmother's bed, grandfather without his dentures, waking up in the middle of the night with an earache - it's difficult to figure which is the earliest among them.
I recollect my maternal grandparents shifting house when I was about two or so. They allowed me to sit in the front seat of the truck (I was already obsessed with cars and all by then). But then, this could be less a memory than an interpolation from what I was told later.
the pope - Well....
@ Phoenix - *grin*
@ Abhik - Which is fine, right? Because we all are what our memories make of us.
Your answers are interestingly short... a whole sentence would be positively amazing!
Semme try my hand at syllogism:
General Premise: We are what our memories make of us
Specific Premise: My memory could be based less on fact and more on ex post facto interpolations from what people told me subsequently, therefore fiction.
Conclusion: I am what my fictitious interpolations make of me.
Say, you just gave me a justification for my inferiority complex! Thanks buddy, always wanted one of those.
@ the pope - my sentences leave spaces open that anyone is welcome to fill up.
@ abhik - well, it could have been anyone. (Un)Fortunately I got through to you.
Like an open ended conversation?
maybe. we can never close anything. something always is left unfinished.
Enjoyed your posting.... more powerful for me are those sacred smells that immediately take me back in time ... the type of tea brewed by my father, autumn leaves decaying in the sunshine on a crisp clear day, the freshness in the air after a heavy rainfall as the mist rises .. my senses and memories are as one, connected and breathing life into each other.
Love your blog header btw, very jarring and wonderful. I'll definitely be back!
You leave a lot to imagination when u say things like that!
I've invited u to gtalk.
@ WW - Memories sure play with me... btw, blogger header work is by The Tramp. You can find him in my blogroll.
Its incredible how we can retain shadows of childhood flashes. The earliest memory I have is of investigating a switch box on an annual visit to India.. and getting electrocuted :D
Getting Electrocuted!! You brat!! I would have liked you as a kid.
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