So I was on a small date (that’s what we call it) with my husband today, after dropping our son at the therapy centre. The first thing that struck my mind when I entered the restaurant was the songs playing in the background. As it turned out, I was in one of the South Indian restaurants in Toronto, but Bollywood music was playing. Romantic mashups. Obvious marketing choice in the season of love.
While I was stuffing my masala dosa into my mouth, I heard ‘Ek din Teri’ from ‘Naqaab’. Probably not many of my readers know that song, but it’s an Atif Aslam song from an Abbas Mustan thriller. That moment literally gave me shivers. My ears were tingling after hearing that song for the first time in a long time. I told my husband that when we get back into the car, we are going to listen to something from the 2000s and gonna stay in the parking lot. And there we are in the car, waiting for another 25 minutes for my son’s ABA to finish; hearing ‘Tera Mera Rishta Purana‘ from ‘Awarapan‘.
Taking a moment to think about time, I paused. Those days. It was my teens when Emraan Hashmi was blasted with so many movies and songs. These songs are the most precious parts of my best days and best memories.
Oh God! How did I get here? After years, I am hearing this song, this wonderful piece that is so connected to my life. This is something I cannot imagine myself giving up. Still, I did.
It’s funny how time works its magic in our lives. We all try to run away from what hurts us most or what has gone wrong in our lives. But with that, we are also moving away from some beautiful memories. With all the whirlwind that happened in those years of my life, I’ve consciously hidden those memories in the deepest box of my brain, locked it and thrown the key away. I wasn’t or I’m still not ready to think about what happened in the following years and the years that followed. It also made me turn off the good memories too.
What strange people we are. While some still live in the past, others strive to live in the present. I am the person in the middle. A person who tries to forget the bad past that keeps coming back and wants to push away the present. There are too many things in my pocket. Trauma, heartbreaks, regrets of trusting the wrong people, disappointments, insecurities, and struggles to fit in. Yet I forgot there are some smiles, great memories, and loud laughs deep down. I know my long-lost teen will be happy to see how far I’ve come. Although I have broken most of her dreams, I have survived. My heart is full of pride for her. In the midst of the storm, she handled herself well. From the ashes of her life, she was reborn. She was able to ignore the wrong people around her. Despite her mistakes, she owned them. I shouldn’t have forgotten her. For her, I have never stopped dreaming. Perhaps the bigger whales have become tiny fishes.
She dreamt of starting an NGO; I dream of surviving a whole week without having a mental breakdown. Her dream of writing a novel has evolved into my dream of writing at least once a week in my journal. Maybe I’ve felt deep down I’m disappointing her, and so I left her somewhere. Now that I look at myself, to those shivers I felt after hearing the song, I don’t think I need to worry about her. When I look back, I can see the fourteen-year-old me smiling at me and telling me everyone makes mistakes. It’s how first loves feel, that’s how failures feel, that’s how heartbreaks hurt, that’s how trusting the wrong person resounds, and that’s how we all grow up. I wish I could wrap a big hug around her and say, “We made it!”
Change is the only constant in this life. Thus, we change. Nearly one year ago, I thought I would never be able to sleep or breathe properly again. Here I am, breathing. Even though I still have doubts about most of my choices in life, I could at least tell my old self that ‘Tera Mera Rishta Purana’. (Our relationship is since a long time)
It was Divya’s message today to say that she cares for me and that she is thinking about me which made me take a notepad and type this. I literally bawled in happiness reading the message. Apart from all the disagreements, disapproval, and apologies, I have a man with the worst and best sense of humour who makes me believe the shivers I got from that song in the restaurant aren’t the result of the song but of the extremely cold wind outside. There are also those not-so-tiny little hands pulling me now with all the strength they can muster for the popcorn in the cupboard. What else do I have to look forward to?
3 responses to “The forgotten self”
Maybe some of those dreams could still happen.
Thank you! Maybe