Monday, 30 March 2009

Why didn't you?

The past comes back to haunt us.
There was a time...and I feel surprised to realize that that time is now 10-12 years behind- when I wanted to play the piano. I wanted to play Chopin on the piano. It was an obsession, a frenzy, a dream. It was a desire that was a fire that scorched-burning tears that scalded the cheeks they ran down against-it was a burning desire. I wanted to play the piano. Nothing would soothe this desire-this neurotic narcissus that I was, a plain but sensitive child, a child who cried even more when she heard the musical wailing of violins...for that soothed. The violins were the lyric to the epic of piano. Make what you will of that.

Then I realized that I could never play Chopin. I would always hear. I was reconciled. I grew up. I was too lazy to learn the violin, but not too lazy to listen to-say- Yehudi Menuhin. But sometimes majestic chords would stir something deep within me; like a memory that is the glowing embers beneath the mound of ash. Waiting to erupt with the right breeze. Memories are strange things. Some you remember, some you will yourself to forget. Denial is the deepest river in Egypt. The pianoforte is the instrument that is always on this side of modernity. However, I digress.

I did not realize when the restlessness became neurosis and when the neurosis became psychosis. I did not realize when the glass broke to make a million fragments of me. I did not realize when the rainbow split and merged and forgot me in the process of bringing together that last streak of violet and the last stain of red. I was out of the picture, just as I had never been in it. It was a dream, but then what is a dream? It is not a lie, but it is not reality either. I wish I could tell. But there is nothing to share on this side of the glass, if only I could have stepped on to the other side-before it broke.

I would like to thank my memories, but I also want to spit on them. Today I put on some Chopin. 12 years faded away-dissolved into nothingness- the 8 year old who stared at me, was staring at with me longing and revulsion. No! I said. This cannot be the other side.
She stares. She hates me. She tells me only one thing.

Why didn't you?


Baudolino said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Baudolino said...


Anurima. said...

memories make you the person you are today. whether they are nice or not-so-nice... they will remain. you cannot forget. embrace them and move on. :)

Baudolino said...

why didn't i?

Anonymous said...

"Memories are strange things. Some you remember, some you will yourself to forget. Denial is the deepest river in Egypt."

I couldn't have put it better myself.

AUROBOROS banerjee said...

does the eight year old you look like JU-ON?? or the little scarred girl ghosts from jap movies??

if not, it's not very prudent to let these obsessively paranoid creatures tear your present achievements apart, on the rather turd-like pretext of not being able to fructify IT'S aspirations.
COULD YOUR EIGHT-YEAR OLD SELF have come up with twenty words that rhyme with 'bladder'??

could Chopin?

Monidipa said...

we all have regrets. this may sound very unemotional, but sometimes it's good to keep nostalgia in check. shove the old ghosts and 8-year-old selves back into the box, lock it, and sit on it.

none of us turned out as perfect as we thought we would. but it's alright. as long as we can live with it.


Nimo said...

I differ from some of the opinions above.....

Late at night..... bring out that eight year old from her obscure isolation.....let her speak till just before dawn...

Hold her & fall asleep.

In the morning be yourself again.

Magically Bored said...

I've always wanted to learn a musical instrument. I tried with the piano and the violin, and then I realised I didn't have any musical talent whatsoever. :(
But sometimes I think back and wonder whether I would have managed, had I put in some more effort.
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- Tuna