Letter to Memory

This is going to be fantastic, finally to be able to think of you to write to. At a time when you are only receding, it is even difficult to remember who is asking for a piece off me. At a time when you are renouncing my entity with such affectionate gusto, I had to figure out a way to reach you. And letters are my thing. So, one to you too. Here. To become a part of your dust gathering database years from now. To join the ever eluding legion of moments. And yet, to constitute you.

Memory. What a powerful word. You are so powerful, so dynamic, so formidable. You can break, make and unmake lives. You are dominant, and look, you are so fluidic too! Substantial that you are, and perhaps what one banks upon most, you are the one one can't rely fully on should you choose to remarkably, disinterestedly depart. I never had a good measure of you, come to think of it, or to summon you, nothing more authenticate stands true. I always had to find ways, means and methods to hold on to you, so that I could hold on to other memories. A doodle to remind me which glacier the Ganges originated from, or a funny laugh to remind me of a formula happening in the foreground. A word coined to condense moments which would later precipitate meanings. That was me, and those were my dealings with you.

But you? Why have you always almost neglected me? Ignored me? I garlanded your great importance as if you are the most precious little thing breathing on this earth. Little friendly orange and yellow marigolds, around you creating an aura of halo'd enlightenment. Or, friendlier white lilies quietly essayed around you to cascade a rising sense of dignity. Everything about you. But nothing suited your taste. Yours and mine was to be a love-hate relation: your distinct denial versus my indistinct persistence. Quite obviously, you won. By a very colourful margin. But the monochrome which made its mark was that neither did I give up. The more you fled, the more I had to find a way to lure you back. May be not win over you, but have you around to serve my purpose.

I have kind of given up, slowly. There is no point you see. Holding on to you like dear life depended on you (well, it does!). I have moved on to create newer ones for each gap you have created. I have fashioned newer yous. I have completed jigsaws and though it is hassling, the inside of my mind, yet the structure is reassuring. Read this letter, memory. May be you will see what you are to me.

Knowingly,

K.