Anger bang

There still are memories left.
Eversince I have come back from Bangalore, I have had less sleep. Memories are blotting with strange fearsome imagination and keeping me awake. I keep thinking, if this had happened I would done this, if they said that I would have said this.
But the fact is that nothing really dramatic happened. apart from that the ghosts from the past are provoking the dead cells in my brain. The dead and the ghosts can only make nightmares.

Neha says- not all was bad. I agree, not all the hours of the day were unbearable.
These were the hours spent with her, Saty and the proud dog behind the NID cell building, honing our Kannada speaking skills.
Even the hours when I spent waiting at majestic, eating the same breakfast and lunch at Mayuridarshini everyday, listening to Mohan's endless list of problems in his nasal accent, bitching endlessly about Ghoshal's peeing habits and Shashikala's swooning skills, were better spent than the hours that brought me closer to returning home.

Then came one October, that smelt of Onam .

November saw me off at the railway station for the last time.

I remember, in the locked cupboard, the keys of which I handed over few days back, lies a white fairytale book. A gift from baba when I was in kindergarten. Every time I think about it, I can see the picture on its back page. a giant stuck in a pit, only his head showing and pleading to a little boy who is watching.
I remember the water colour pictures from the- The donkey skin
and the pictures from -Ricky tuft
Baba had bound the book in a thick cellophane so that it never tears.


I remember the children who drew me birthday cards a week before I left the city. They gave me painted shells and masks to hang on the wall. They were my gateway to escape reality. They gave me time, to think without plans. they built my support system for me, that I would need for escape. I remember they were the only ones who were real.

There are other times too that I remember.
Wandering on the streets with heart beating in fear and love. Both fooled me enough.
There were rainy afternoons when I travelled in the bus only wishing to get stuck by of the water clogging and get some more time to be with myself.
There were rainy days when I heeded nothing and walked though it heart beating in joy as well as fear.
I remember the smell of the coffee mixing with the spiced coconut chutney.
all this I remember because i was busy erasing the other memories, which I think I succeeded in, partially.

Memories can damage. Memories can make you sleep with a knife under your pillow.They can make you travel with stones in your bag. some memories can make you whimper all night while other's will make you wash clothes at 2 in the night. Memories can demand you to wash and clean someone else's bathroom and sleep on the cold floor in the month of january. Memories can rob you of your sensations of cold and heat until you are moaning with fever.

Whoever said erasing memories is not possible. it is difficult not impossible.
Whoever said- the process of erasing memories is actually brain damage, I'm sure is an idiot.