Monday, April 30, 2007

walking in your footsteps

The song this week has to do with the phenomenon that undoubtedly occurs whenever adults spend time at their parents' house- waves and waves of nostalgia couple with strange regressive behavior to recreate one's childhood. My father is starting a new job fairly soon, but he has this week off. My grandparents are visiting and staying with us this week. Even though there are reminders of our current state of existence (like the fact that I am upstairs and can hear the television from behind my closed door because both my father and grandfather are becoming extremely hard of hearing- I may invest in ear plugs shortly), there are also so many discussions of remember when that the past seems like it was just the previous day.

My father has a lot of faults. My parents and I have an unusual relationship, but I do not like to dwell on it too much because it's boring and melodramatic. But I do remember that my father, more than anyone else, showed me what a panacea music could be. Unlike my father, I don't talk about that at length with people. Those who meet me in person know that I do not usually spend much time discussing music or arguing about which band is cooler than the other. I don't profess to be a great judge of good music, or even a music aficianado. I'm no Nick Hornby. But, like my father, I have a relationship with music that is quite personal. Whatever my mood, some song will suit me well, will fit me like a glove, and wrap around me like a perfect blanket.

And because of that, even though I can't abide by most Bollywood movies or songs these days, I have a soft spot for old film songs. When my father was in a particularly animated mood, soundtracks like Shree 420 (which now, because I've regressed to a 14-year old, makes me go, "420, hee!") could be heard in every corner of our humble home. And you know what? It holds up. Or maybe it's nostalgia. But whatever the reason, I listen to this song, which I actually prefer to Mera Joota Hai Japani, and can't help but feel a little warm inside. Even if my childhood was far from idyllic, it's somehow still comforting to think I had one, if that makes any sense.

I don't think I am making a whole lot of sense these days though. I find that my brain starts to dull as soon as I step into EBF. Hopefully blog-perusing and the internet will stave off the stupidity. If not, I leave the country on Saturday and W will shake his head and wonder what became of me after five years in the land of fog and dreams.

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