On a lot of occasions I feel I am a store house of these little memories, memories I have with so many people I have met, known, some I never knew, some I pass by, of strangers.. but then I remember them all or most of them even in the unlikely event of the other person/persons not even remembering any of these… I think most of the little memories are stored in little compartments in a reference shelf in my memory bank, something akin to my earring shelf. There is a box for each pair of earring, like there is a box for each little memory 🙂 All that said, memories are intertextual by nature.. one leads to the other, therefore they are called a train of thoughts, may not all be in one direction, but there are all interconnected in some way at least in my head.. but I still think I have a set of memories for particular persons, the boxes…..
(But I tend not to store lousy memories of people in general, I click on shift delete so they are erased fully, never to resurface.. oh! yes it happens, just don’t give them too much of thought! They will self erase in no time… )
Just imagine my wonder when I read the novel Noor, where memory is described in compartments like I did 🙂 Of course, I was not the only crazy one thinking of memories this way.. 🙂 🙂 I realized over time I needed to interact with the right kind of crazy people because the normal everyday routine folks, not boring in themselves, will think these thoughts as mad.. Oh! come on, don’t tell me you haven’t come across such unimaginative practical people? To them these are ridiculous fantasies they think are too trivial to even ponder on, leave alone discuss with someone out loud.. Not that they don’t have any, they do.. but they are not free enough to give time to such flights of fantasy (so if you have such crazy ideas, you know which ear to come to 🙂
featured picture for the post is a restaurant named Salt Water in Bandra. I revisit that place to just look at the way they present the breads and its dips
Related posts: Memories and Random Ramblings @ Obsessive Mom