Carefully crafted…

254526_10150288162500931_7915622_nWe were born in the age of telephones, and though our grandparents and distant uncles still wrote letters to us, we haven’t ever had to learn the art of letter writing. We didn’t have to. Whatever we wanted to say was just a phone call away. And the easier it became to make a call, the further we went to penning our thoughts down. We became careless about what we said and took offense on what we heard. There was nothing to fall back upon. Memories became distorted, till we found a way to store every moment of our lives in our pockets. Intimate moments needed to be picture perfect, like fairy-tales, and so we started to weave our moments around the picture. We became lesser than the moments captured, and feelings became a tool we played with..

It’s been some time now I’ve been wondering, how words used to cherish our feelings in those carefully crafted letters. Letters that we cherished all the more because of the long wait, the anticipation, looking for the postman every morning. Letter from your mother telling you about the nest in the courtyard tree, or your grandfather reminiscing about football with his brothers in the long forgotten village. The nostalgia of finding a yellow worn out letter in your favorite book with times long gone, but with the hint of rose.  Of all the arts dying in this world, the loss of letter writing is the close of an era.

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Kshanbhangur

It feels like a long time back now, during my school days, I had come across a short story in Hindi. I do not remember the name or the author of the story, or even its content. What I do remember is this word, “Kshanbhangur”, and I am haunted by it; not in a tormenting sort of way, but the word keeps popping up in front of me now and then, when I’m sad or happy or just excited. It gives me hope, stops me from putting everything in one basket, makes me smile, makes me be patient, and tells me to be cautious, all at once and separately as the situation arises.

“Kshan” means a moment; “bhangur” I think means fragile, or destroyable; hence the word “kshanbhangur” means that which lasts in the moment, and would be gone in the next. It is like all my relationships, intense when they last, but they fade away and leave me stranded. But the truth is, if I try to hold on to them, they become futile and troubled. What’s broken can’t be mended, the fault lines remains. Sometimes, they dissolve. You miss them, but you can’t have them back; they are gone forever, they remain in your memory alone.