It’s the essence of existence that makes you feel alive, cherishes and cared. An extravagant sense of just being. Nostalgia, like the mildew, slowly creeps on you while you are not paying attention, mountain grass perfume calling you to those mysterious memory lanes. It is the most reliant fail-safe mechanism that was pre-packed in our DNA by evolution; providing contrast to the predicament of life that tends to be monotonous by the hour. It like jack’s beanstalk taking you to the clouds. So, that you may look upon your puny mortal self and ponder what brought you there. Being nostalgic is the feeling that you have after waking from an afternoon siesta, refreshes you in a jiffy. Once you take a dip into this youth fountain blissfully pulsing with yearning for misty smell reminding of your childhood, friendships long lost into the rubbles of time, gilded mischiefs with friends and siblings, mentally itched holidays and festivities with family, those retarded discussion that went on for hours, limitless roles where you played you own hero.
It’s a gust of winds drifting you to simpler times when being: thrifty was caution, a vulnerability was the strength, pinkie swears were commitments, walking through a dark room was the adventure, imaginativeness was the job and inviting friends to birthday was the greatest happiness. We often close the book as a chapter of life ends, never to read it again but nostalgia wrenches our desires to revisit those ends. Ever so reminding you to the fact that the world will keep going even if everything went wrong but life may not there for you must keep on going writing those chapters so as to be able to revisit those ends when everything goes wrong.
It is the wish come true for a time machine that you always wanted so you could see things in their former glory, fringing on the edge your imaginative universe, wishing you were among those stars.

Nostalgia is the perfect mirror for the ghosts of past, present and future: aptly captured by my dear Friend Manish Shukla :

Sprung in the dawn of relentless flow,
she used to stroll down the lane and steer
to the world, she was an uncaring brat,
No water in her eyes, no drums in her ears,
Nobody knew her, and still, everybody did,

the assumption of reality and reality were no near
An aura that bound her inner soul beneath,
That kept the edges sharp, blunt and clear
But there was something that pushed me to her,
that glowing flame, hidden in the darkness sheer

I saw her in the morning, stomping on the road,
Morning came out the word and made her face cheer
the aghast her in eyes took me aback,
and then the smile she flaunted took me near
soon the time lapsed, and smiles became words,

then there came the time when there only words and no fears
A vast ocean of feel, a pool of emotions,
The hard shell around her contained a pool of tears,
as the words kept going, and the roads between eloped,
the words went on, on the shore, near the river

took me a while to finally feel her life,
the ups, the downs. the cries, the fears
the world made her, a pile of fury
locked in mistrust, too hard to peer
as I went into her eyes, the spark unveiled,

she was the angel that I sought, saw and hear
she was everything I was, a reflection of my soul
that’s when it felt, I am her seer
she seemed rude, rough and the upfront fight for them,
they never really knew, that she was just being a MIRROR!

 

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