Beauty of Nostalgia-A Collection of Memories

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Beauty Of Nostalgia – A Collection Of Memories

When I was 7, I spent most of my time at home with my mom. Pa has always been a workaholic and thus was and is busy for 31 days a month. My mom had left her job at that time as she was expecting her second child. I’d been advised to stay in bed by my doctor for reasons which are of no or little importance now.

One day, I was in a very low mood stuck in bed, all my cousins and friends out on vacation, pa as usual out of the state. Sensing the presence of blue devils inside me, my mother presented me with a beautiful diary. It had a small lock which was golden in colour to it. Two kids, a boy and a girl were sitting around a table,painting. The image was splashed with colours where the art work and the colour palette were shown. I was very intrigued as well as awed at the same time. Awed by its out of the world beauty and intrigued by the presence of the golden lock which could ofcourse be opened with a key.

I opened it up with great enthusiasm but it faded it as soon as I found out that the pages were blank. Seeing me all disappointed, my mother asked me the reason behind my disappointment. I said , “ There are no secrets in here.” She smiled her prettiest smile and said, “ Write your own.” That was the day I felt all grown up and at the end of each day from then, I had something to look forward to.

In the beginning she used to help she used to help me out in writing down the activities of the day. She left at the point when I started to make efforts to put my emotions into words. Thus what started as an exercise later cultivated into a hobby.

I turned 8. My first diary had run out of pages. Mom had little or no time for me as she was busy looking after my younger brother and thus she couldn’t buy a new one for me. Felling piqued and desperate to pour my heart out in front of bundle of leaves jacketed beautifully, I entered my pa’s study and started rummaging through his book cases. I stood there awestruck, captivated by the appeal of what lay in front of me. A white notebook embossed with a silver horse. I picked it up and brought it to my room. I started flipping through its pages and I fell deeper in love with it. For the next one year, it served as my most faithful friend. I started staying in my room with my books, my huge collection of pencils, my diary and of course my thoughts. My love for reading and writing became more deep as time passed by.

I was 10. My annual school report arrived via mail. I’d secured rank 1 in my dad but according to pa, I’d performed poorly I ended up having a row with him. After a long bickering session of approximately 40 minutes, I came back to my room drained emotionally. I sat on my bed, searched for my notebook(the one I had when I was 7) and decided to go down the memory lane. Flipping through the pages, I paid special attention to how things had been penned down on those. The curves, the formation of every single word cried for my attention . I realised my handwriting had been loathsome. I felt angry at myself for soiling such an exquisite notebook.

I grabbed hold of a notepad lying on my bedside, sharpened my pencil and sat there practicing forming each alphabet immaculately as my mom had taught me. After I was done with alphabets, I started forming words on the white sheet in front of me. Introducing curves at the right places, connecting alphabets, writing in a flowing manner, I indulged in this activity everyday from then. By the time I turned 10, I’d won the calligraphy competition in my school.

I was 11. We’d been provided with an hour of unsupervised study. I’d been sitting on my desk near the window, doing nothing productive but staring out of the window. I spared a glance to a pencil pouch which was lying on the desk which was next to that of mine. The phrase ‘heart and soul’ was carved in hot bold pink letters on a white background. I tried to realise what lay ahead of me on my notebook. My effort bore no results and after that what happened changed my life. Within the next 15 minutes I had written a 26 line poem titled heart and soul. The rhyming scheme was ab ab. I read it and reread it. I was enthused with a huge amount of happiness. The very fact that I had created something helped me cope up with my much hated routine in the school. I started to wait for my summer break. I wanted to meet my grandpa, to tell him what I have written. I knew he’d ask me to recite the poem for him. I met him at last and yes, I recited my poem to him. His words, “You have become a poet.” Those life changing words metamorphosed my hobby into an intense passion for writing and poetry.

Now I am sitting in my Numerical Analysis class telling anecdotes. So the reader would very well have guessed the twisted turn that events took. 2 more years and I am done with this place. I will now put my pen down as my hand aches. Also the handwriting is beginning to appear creepy and I don’t wish to soil another beautiful diary.