Nostalgia is never a good thing. Especially if it wakes you up at 4 o’clock in the morning. In the winter. With a headache.
On this occasion, it was friends whom I have not bothered to keep in touch with, and those who have well and truly stepped into that post-Neverland phase that society calls marriage. School friends whom I have known for close to two score years, college mates who spent the better part of 4 years dealing with metallurgical maladroits like me and put up with it magnificently. And for no rhyme or reason, they had to invade my dreams and wake me up. All this when I was out of coffee. If this is not divine retribution, I do not know what is.
Others will confirm that nostalgia is a vice that I am seldom able to give up. It is probably a good thing that I have a perpetual cold in Vancouver, or the smells would drive me into a nostalgia highway with no exits. And even then, taste gets to me. The newest addition to my `must eat/drink when I get home’ list is the sugarcane juice with ginger sold opposite to Reliance Jewellery in Jayanagar, Bangalore. Damned beet sugar.
Twenty –eleven has been that sort of year. Where the good happened without being great, and the bad had the tendency to get worse. Where going home merely whet your appetite, and the 49th parallel never appeared more insurmountable, despite two trips south. Conversation became near unbearable, with music being the way out. And away from work, there is the crushing sense of isolation brought about by accidie. So you get back to work, that thing you do best, and try to forget how, in a foreign land, the pixie dust has no effect.