Scent of a memory

Winters of 2010. Early days at JS. College-going carefree days. Wedding. Work summers. Chilling in Oman.

Above thoughts rush to my head whenever I take a quick sniff of my favourite scents, preserved in my cupboard in their almost-empty bottles. Its a dejavu. It takes you back to a different era. A different time-zone. A memory in time.

Its amazing how each scent symbolizes a memory, a memory so strong, that a mere sniff can take you back to that time, take you back to feel those feelings, to experience those vivid details, and most importantly, to reflect.

These are not in the form of pictures, documents, video tapes, chits, slips, gifts, wrappers, or anything else. The entire memory is encapsulated in a mere sniff. A pure, intangible, and priceless scent. Beautiful in nature, striking in reality.

What one does not realize is how when you're looking at tangible memories related to a past event, you want to feel what you see. (Wait.. What?) Let me go again. You want to feel, what exactly you see or want to believe in. You don't want to modify it. You see a past movie ticket, and you say 'hey! that was a fun day'. Riiiight. What about the feeling you felt while actually dressing up for your big date? What about the adrenaline you felt while making your way down the stairs to rush to your car? What about the really nice feeling you had, once you got back home, when you just wanted to smile and think about that special person?

A scent gives you exactly that. It makes you feel how you actually felt that day.

The scent of a memory is priceless.

Have fun preserving your precious moments in a mere sniff. :)

Urdu bhool gaye kiya?

Interesting piece of conversation that came up during a Print Media lecture last week - while arguing about how English newspapers are better than Urdu, and why we feel slightly 'comfortable' while reading English newspapers, I realized, how we, yes, you, and all of us, have forgotten everything about our mother-tongue. How we, as citizens of this very country, have forgotten our very own language.

It really hit me when someone asked if we could take our exam in Urdu - it was as shocking to the instructor, as to the rest of us. It was a sudden wave of guilt, that made us realize how we have sidelined our basic language, to a point where a mere thought of using it for academic purposes, or professionally, frightens us!

I know its ironic how this blogpost is also in English, but it is because I chose it to be this way - it is how we have been cultured over the years, during our fancy education, and shmancy upbringing.

A friend of mine was filling out some forms the other day - he literally struggled while filling them, because they were to be filled up in Urdu. When is the last time you wrote something in Urdu? I, for one, cannot recall.

We shower utmost amounts of admiration and respect for those who can speak oh-so-fluently in English, but immediately judge someone as soon as they start to talk in Urdu at a 'high-end' gathering, and immediately judge how he/she probably doesn't even know how to construct a basic sentence in English. Little do we know, that that 'assumed' paindu is probably more knowledgeable than you will ever be!

I must confess though, that I have the utmost amount of respect for those that are flawlessly fluent in both Urdu, and English. In fact, when properly conversed in, with the right amounts of heavy words, mixed with that beautiful raw accent, Urdu sounds more pleasing than any other language!

Next time you're out with some friends, or having a conversation with someone important, try shifting it completely to Urdu - lets see what you manage, and whether or not your conscience screams, 'urdu bhool gaye kiya?'

Dreams within.

He woke up in the middle of his ultimate dream.

Perplexed, he stormed his way out of the house, half-dressed, breakfast consumed whilst glancing at the houses nearby. There was something different about today. He could feel it.

Driving at a high-speed, he was shocked to listen to his favorite song, as soon as he turned on the radio. He expressed his luck by grinning at the school-girl staring at him from the school-bus next to his car. The light turned to green. And he crossed the school-girl and her bus. He noticed in his rear-view mirror, that she was still staring. As if she had either seen a ghost, or a celebrity. There was sympathy in her eyes.

Today was the launch of his first-ever book, 'Dreams within'. It was picked up by a renowned publisher 2 years back, and had received outstanding media hype. He had been thinking about this day ever since he was in college. His launch was set in one of the most popular art galleries of the city. The launch was scheduled to start at 10:30am. It was already 10:34, with no signs of the author.

His secretary kept calling him since 9:30 in the morning. He realized he was late, and was not responding to any calls. Until he saw his mother's name on the caller ID. He had not spoken to her in 10 years. Ever since they had a major fallout. He hated her, and did not want to take her call. 'I wish you all the best', said his mother, in a brief 10-second one-way call. He took the call, for some odd reason. All of a sudden, he felt animated and conscious. He felt a huge relief, almost as if it had freed him from prison.

He reached the gallery at 10:58am. His secretary was at the gate to receive him and brief him about the launch and the agenda. He had his speech well-prepared. He had worked on it for almost 2 months, and rehearsed it every single day. It was time.

--

With a shaky voice, she continued addressing the audience gathered at the 5th memorial of Chris Hayden. "This excerpt was from Chris's Biography written by his wife. Chris passed away in his sleep the morning before his book launch, exactly 5 years ago. This Biography is in his memory."

"I still remember how Chris used to think about his ultimate dream, all the time. As if he had planned every second of it."

"I loved him very, very much. After all, he was my only son."