21 November, 2009

Memoirs of a Memory (or Park Parody IV)

Time. Time will heal everything. One gets over heartbreaks and lovers laid down.

She shook herself, as if to rid her mind of these thoughts. It was slightly chilly, and she wrapped her shawl tightly, an insufficient armour to the indifferent collapse her insides were going through. Time? That cruel I-don't-wait-for-anybody will heal? Either They had lost their minds or she had. Heal? Did she even want to? She dug her toes resolutely into the grass. It was going to be a long evening. She should have brought something warmer. A leaf fell near her hands. Withered and yellow.

A kid cycled by and reminded her how he had tried teaching her to "balance". With no success whatsoever. She had, much to his disbelief, managed a fracture and toppled over an old lady...but those were just inconsequential after-memories she had no intention of retaining, details she could certainly do without. Her memories were hers alone, to uncover and watch as she pleased. She could play a song softly in the background, emphasize and enhance parts she loved. She could choose from a hundred of them, each with their nuances, each in a different hue. She could stroll around them or rush forth, feeding her fancies, trampling on caution.

She didn't want time to snatch them away from her. Dull her into believing that the incidents were after all mere figments of an overactive imagination, from a period so long ago, fact and fiction coalesced into an unintelligible mosaic. She wanted to remember and forget them at will, to have the power to choose and destroy. To discard and retain. To erase and rebuke. To shelter and encourage.

But her memories, they fed into her, maggots in a fetid wound. They would remind her of parts of her being that she had given up. There was her smile she had parted with so joyfully. Her opinions, threadbare with all the conversations they had been part of. Her thoughts, suddenly so private and at once displayed with flamboyant ease. Her laughter and the way she gave it with gay abandon. Her tears, cherished and wastefully fallen in the crevices of uncomfortable silences. And she had broken off bits of other people, weaving them through her mind in circular patterns, each one entangling itself in perfection with one another. She could hear a whisper in the background, she could feel an embrace hold her, and if she concentrated hard enough, she could see why it was an embrace, not a hug, not perfunctory, not forced. There was some shouting too. Bitterness and anger. Indifference and annoyance. She caught her breath as she heard him mumble something she wished she could hear forever. She smelt him on her and smiled a little more.

Time? She wielded it like a toy. She looked down at her hands, a piece of grass wound around her fingers. She twisted it and then smoothed it out. She knotted it and then untied it. It lay in her palm now. Limp. Compliant and silent. She grinned at it, dusting her clothes, as she got up. They were dank. She put her thoughts back in place, they refused, scurrying around, disobedient toddlers. She walked, in no particular direction and liked where it was leading to.


  1. "Her memories were hers alone", well said.

    So when you talk about the memories is it like reading a book or watching a movie? In the sense, do you remember that a kid tried to teach you balance, or do you remember the scene vividly. For me its like reading a book :D.

    Have you seen Memento?

  2. Memento has been seen. Repeatedly.
    Memories have been read. Repeatedly.

  3. Time heals because:

    Human Memory = K.e^-|a|t

  4. beautiful. I enjoyed that very much.

  5. That is just the way with Memory; nothing that she brings to us is complete. She is a willful child; all her toys are broken. I remember tumbling into a huge dust-hole when a very small boy, but I have not the faintest recollection of ever getting out again; and if memory were all we had to trust to, I should be compelled to believe I was there still.

    oh i didnt say that. read it somewhere. Makes lot of sense to me.

  6. Obi: "nothing that she brings to us is complete" That sums up most of what I wanted to say.

    Psmith: seeing you after long :)

    question mark: why does the blog get so many nerds?

  7. You should have an answer to that...

  8. terribly abstruse. and yes, unforgivably circular. i felt tired reading it. but cathartic it must have been. so who am i to say ANYthing.

  9. but ideas and images scattered here and there were exceptional. maybe instead of several paragraphs, just a few lines would have sufficed.

  10. You felt tired? That's awfully tragic.

  11. "fact and fiction coalesced into an unintelligible mosaic" !!! wow



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