Rediscovering

The story of my life can be told as simple. Not much crossroads or anything spectacular; a bundle of mistakes, a bunch of special events and a chain of memories. Everything simple and ordinary, yet cherishable –probably because I take life as it is offered. Everyday.

I remember things quite well. All the people I’ve met all this way are stored in that specific corner of my mind. I relish all the activities and moments that I’ve shared with them. There are people who have stained the canvas of my life with some dull gloomy shades, but the multiple strokes of unique shades are brighter to outshine them. I had, however, forgotten the little details that I had then noticed but somehow slipped away.

Then, a few fine days ago, when clearing my closet, I found some old journals. Or should I say a collection of journals and what I used to call “slam diaries.” The multi colored slam diaries that I had created almost a decade ago. And I (almost) jumped and (almost) danced in the rain (if it were raining) like Anjali Sharma (if only I were)! The shackles holding nostalgia were loosened and memories came about gushing! It suddenly occurred to be for how I used to make such journals recording each day’s episode and diaries having questions, demanding autograph and a ‘signature’ in the end. But, what brought a smile to my face is that it provided me a sketch; a chance to revisit the lane that I had crossed ages ago and recollect the details that had slipped away.

Leaving the closet unclear, I sat at the messy maroon marble floor with colorful diaries scattered around, laughing at my own ‘creativity’. The vague handwriting, the irregular patterns at the bottom of almost every page, the extra-long signature and some hilarious questions that were asked with the sense of great intellect. Like, “what is your favorite vacation spot?” “If you get a chance to go to Sindbad and get a free ticket for the whole day for that one ride, which one would it be?” (And almost everybody answered ‘the crazy bus’, including myself). Or questions like, “if you were an alien, which planet would you be from?” “Which are your favorite color, drink, dessert, and flower?”  And the winning question: “how do you like to dress for occasions? A) Simple. B) Decent. C) Too fancy. D) Accordingly.” WHAT EXACTLY WAS I THINKING! LOL! 

The journals contained series of random events that meant so much, back then. I recorded in July 2003, for how amazing and ‘exciting’ my day had been since we went out for dinner at Usmania Restaurant and later had “four scoops” of chocolate crunch ice-cream from “another” restaurant. (Yes, I had emphasized on ‘another’). In October 2003 I recorded how much I love doodling with crayons and that putting random strokes using bright paints make me happy. Another journal contained all my 'sad' thoughts and rambling that my parents don't love me and stuff like, I think I'm an adopted child (the reason being the arrival of my twins brothers and attention being diverted from me being the only child to the additional troublesome two).
In February 2004 I confessed how much I love the people who are in my life and the friends who make my world so beautiful. December 2004 I had expressed my grief for this year that has gone too soon. There were various recordings of such ordinary things from the year 2002-2005 in different journals which are irregular and incoherent.

But then again, it was not just a handful things, it was an entire portray of somebody that I used to be, that was washed out with time. Probably that was why I always felt like I lost certain parts of myself and bits of my life. Probably that was why if somebody asked my favorite color or zodiac sign it would feel weird and ‘childish’. Probably that was why having a cup of coffee or ‘four scoops’ of ice-cream seemed usual and ordinary. Probably that was why somebody’s departure would trigger an unknown feeling. Perhaps that was why paints and crayons were used rarely without a spark of joy. In short, probably this was the answer to that knowingly unknown question that kept hitting but never really came to me, and that was why I didn’t ask.
The portfolio containing one major era of my life that was covered in dust, hidden under piles of other note books and journals was found once again, at the right time. Rereading them somehow helped me retain the purpose. It also mirrored the contrast between who I used to be and who I’ve become.

 The reason I sat down to shape this ordinary (as it may seem) incident to words is pretty simple. There is always a way to find yourself back again. Go back and indulge yourself back again into whatever that stirs your curiosity and brings you joy. You might uncover the brilliant you or rediscover what has long been lost. Or maybe able to undust what used to be the better-you. It is never too late for anything.