There's a part of me ,which is missing.And I'm sure there are bits and parts of all of us which are lost.But where did we lose them? In our school corridors? Or in our college libraries or let me guess ...in our granny's kitchen? Well it could be anywhere. We are no Nobita ...And sadly no Doraemon would come with an ANYWHERE DOOR in our lives to port us to wherever we want to be.Thats not happening.But we have those prehistoric photographs which do take us to a place we call PAST. Sometimes the fresh smelling flowers at the local market transport us to a world which is half-forgotten now.But trust me...nothing is lost .They've only accumulated a thin layer of dust...the dust of poor memory.As the camera blurs the background,the focus in on distinct objects...the mind blurs our history...to highlight our present anecdotes .But there's an altogether different story with the heart. It has the weird way of becoming heavy when an old smell visits us or when a stranger's face resembles someone we might have known. There's a drooling discomfort yet there's that desparate desire of feeling the familiar.Thats what nostalgia does to us.Takes us to places for short intervals only to dismay us with the bitter truths that we have no proper VISA .We migrate back to the Present town ...losing more of us in those places.Eventually we too become memories.
Those tiffin boxes our mothers packed contain us,those school shoes we polished contain us...we hover over the buildings where there were vacant plots...we gradually lose like unpopular dialects...sometimes a cup of tea contains us and make us feel rooted ...remind us we had existed exist and shall be existing...sometimes we find us in paintings of civilisations engraved on ancient monuments...and sometimes we see us in little innocent faces lost in their own thoughts.Nostalgia is worrisome but its wondrous as well.