Last night, I bought a small plastic bowl of Mother Dairy Curd, after dinner, and got it all the way up to the room. I somehow remember brining it up. And then i washed my spoon and sat to eat it, and it was gone. Just vanished. Odds are that i forgot it at the shop but I somehow strongly remember brining it all the way up, even as i unlocked the room.
Nostalgia acts in strange ways perhaps. In Odysseus, he longs to go home for 20 years, and he celebrates that pain of solitary longing, each time the specific memories blurring and the emotion deepening. The loss of detail strengthening the magnitude of the longing. If nostalgia works as a dirge for lost memory, then what about deepened memories? The more i remember a detail, it’s not like I have given up my emotion or longing for the lost curd. The longing for it increases.
It’s perhaps in the nature of lost objects to incite longing. The moment they are lost, they call for retreival. Sometimes they throw a challenge. And in search for the lost object, we do things we would not otherwise do. A sense of purpose if it were. I searched the entire room and found many layers of the past i have paused. Or to use a less digital term, maybe they are just halted processes. Notebooks left midway, unopened condoms, souvenirs from long lost friends, part of a Lay’s Chips packet from pointless screen-stuck evenings. An entire architecture of things unused : moved by the longing for one lost object.
Also why is doubt such a bad thing? Isn’t the most fundamental principle in Quantum theories of things, the little I know of it, is the Heisenberg Uncertainty Pronciple? The inability to determine exactly whether something is one or the other. The inability to determine whether i did bring the curd to my room or not.
Let’s hope I did not, and that my room is not haunted at the moment. They say that love is the glorification of the present. Maybe one antidote for nostalgia, not that one can control it, is some such glory of the moment. Love of something, unto something, around something, within something. Some sort of a sigh deepened by a spectacle so simple that it’s loudest sound is a whimper and the brightest light is a lamp flicker.