Do the ghosts of your past ever come back to haunt you? Do they ever leave? Can you safely define a moment in time where you could say that you were truly free of everything that had ensued in your life? Totally free of feeling for your past?
The past week has been … strange to say the least. Almost ominous. Of what though, is the question racing through my mind. The past few days I have received emails, sms’s, phone calls and offline chat messages from every single lover that I have ever had. And though the list isn’t very long, it isn’t short enough to pass off as coincidence either. While some of them remain as good friends and chatting with them is a pleasant experience and one that doesn’t linger. Some of them leave you emotionally vapid. I got all sweaty palmed and my heart raced in that interminable speed that only love can make it.
Does love ever leave you? It almost feels like every relationship creates its own little schema in our memory maps. An eternal one.. It never ceases to amaze me though that every time I’ve loved and lost; I am so sure that I will never be able to feel as deeply as I did ever again. And I’ve always surprised myself.. Love never seems to dull with occasion. It’s always new. Always different. Always exciting. The mnemonics and the semantics of every love are vastly variant (though my behavioral patterns are always the same. Sigh). And maybe that’s why it hits you so hard every time a love revisits. Each love has its own little schema. Its own little space in the chaotic gibberish of your head.
Anyway maybe this overload of love has been because of excessive alcohol intake this week. I am the friendliest person under the influence (which is why I partake so seldomly). But Alcohol is great. And especially so when you consume it at a time in your life when you largely feel at peace with yourself. Alcohol has the wonderful quality of making your life seem edited. If you’re too drunk, then it’s like a CD skipping and you have absolutely no memory of what happens in between the things you do remember. But if you’re pleasantly high like I have mostly been, life seems to blissfully float and take flight in a warm haze, where thought, memory and movement unite placidly, like petals blown on the surface of a frictionless frozen pool.
I was rudely pulled out of the aforesaid pool last night though by pesky nakabandi baksheesh asking pandu’s and a rather unsuccessful act of having a non slurring conversation with my prudent mother when asked if I had had anything to drink. Well. You win some you lose some right?