I am guilty of living in the past. I can’t really explain why. It’s like an aching. A longing. A strong conviction that the past held magic amidst the mundane. The glittering golden glory days of yore – far superior than the modern day drudgery. Something about those bygone days captivate me. Something about musty albums with black and white photos pasted carefully on cardboard pages and separated by layers of tissue. Something romantic about the lifestyle. Glimpses of my ancestors hobnobbing with royalty. Girls married off at puberty. Love letters tied up with ribbon and stored in biscuit tins. Where travelling to England meant a long treacherous voyage by sea.
While strolling through the rooms of the Cochin Palace I felt this strong yearning for the past. I imagined the princesses bathing in the pond and then taking long walks through the gardens with deer flitting by. The ladies-in-waiting dressed their hair with jewels and wrapped them in “kasavu” saris. I could almost hear the strains of music and the tinkling of anklets. My heart fluttered at the thought of going back to that time in history. My friend shook me out of my reverie and narrated “not so romantic” aspects of a woman’s life in days of the Raj.
I have only my grandma to blame for painting such a glorious picture of her high society days. She threw parties galore and had Russian ex-pats wining and dining with her. Although her trip to England was marked by hardship and disease, it still held a certain magic for me. I wish I could go back in time just to see my grandpa and how tenderly he looked at my grandma, the love of his life. To maybe dance with him, the way he danced with all the little girls in the room, crouching down to their height and sashaying them around till they giggled in pure glee. Or to just hear his voice and the authority it held. To travel back to England and help my grandma bake bread or watch as she presided over an Indian committee.
Or if I could simply pack my bags and stow away on a ship to the past and be an invisible observer – not intruding, not changing the course of history, but simply taking it all in – turning all the musty, black and white photos to fragrant Technicolor movies if you will. The war, the rations, the biting cold of an English winter, the glamorous parties and the beautifully furnished bungalows. See my grandma as she grieved the loss of my grandpa and quietly but unobtrusively send her vibes of sympathy and courage so she could go on and meet me later. Only to tell tales of how things were and how we could never go back to that charmed life.
When I visit mountains where Native Americans once roamed, the very same yearning fills my heart. Of roaming free in the wilderness, one with nature, drinking from the stream, picking berries and running away from bears. Like Pocahontas but without any interference from the British. Maybe I’d like to go to even Ireland, when druids made potions and witches spoke spells. Or Japan when emperors ruled and Buddhism was taking root. Maybe I travel to these places in my dreams and maybe some day time travel won’t be just an idea in a book.
But until then I have resigned myself to live with that aching, that longing, knowing that it is gone, much like the people that lived in it, mingled in the dust, faint in the memories of those still alive, every fading ever more.
14 thoughts on “Waxing Nostalgic”
Nothing wrong with that longing at all. The best thing about those kinds of memories, is the glittery dust that envelopes them:) Beautifully written. I enjoyed it
Thanks Jacqueline 🙂
It’s easy to let nostalgia give you a rose-colored view of earlier times. Your post makes me wonder how in the future people will romanticize our current world.
They probably would Ken, only time will tell 🙂
Hi DC, I so get how nostalgia can give us a rosy view of our past. Not all was rosy and bright. It will fascinating to see how people in the future will view our current world issues and challenges, don’t you think?
It wasn’t really rosy Susan…what with the world war and the great depression…but the people were something else…and things were simpler…
I enjoyed your story very much and while I agree, there are many things about the past that make wonderful memories, I wouldn’t change my moment in time, right here, right now, for anything.
I guess I’m an old soul Lenie…
I really enjoyed your post and the selection of words was telling about every feeling and longing clearly.
Many of us long for a life in those golden times with our ancestors or some long for enjoyment and think to live close to nature and feel its soothing effect.
We can always travel to those places and people in our memories. This do not need any technology or time machine but a peace of mind to get there and to have it.
It is very nicely written.
I was wondering when our children will think about our times, hopefully they will have such beautiful feelings.
Thank you Andleeb…yes we can just go back there in our memories, we don’t need time machines 🙂
Great piece with great imagination. I liked the thought of an invisible observer – not intruding, not changing the course of history, but simply taking it all in. I never thought about something like that but it sure sounds like a good idea. Just that I may be tempted in certain ways to change history
Thanks Welli…I got all nostalgic after reading a book on time travel, “The Rose Garden”. The protagonist travelled to the past and had to keep fighting the urge to let people know the outcome of all their plans…
It would definitely be fun to go back and observe without being seen or altering history. As an invisible person, I could go anywhere without being challenged. What a great concept!
Thanks Beth…wish it was not just a concept and I could actually go back…