Achingly perfect

Are there memories that are so achingly perfect that one dare not touch them, for fear or rendering them impure? Are there moments when one feels lost for the right words to express a feeling? What does one do with them? Does one dare spell them out to give some form to that sensation that these memories evoke, while risking their trivialization.

Avi's blog entry has brought the same issue before me. Rock Beach ... that place so close to my house, that place so close to my heart. I don't remember the first time I, Sushil, Avi and Sachin frequented that place. But the attraction was immediate and the effect was permanent. We were hooked to the place. Come to think off it, what was really so special about that place? Just a few rocks lining a rather vocal stretch of sea. Exactly what you would see in a million different places. Come to think of it, don't people worship idols ... which are well, stones at the end of a day.

The rock beach was our own piece of stone, where we carved our memories and strengthened the bonds of our friendship. How many evenings would start with a phone call to either Avinash or Sachin or Sushil, 'Let's meet in 10 min at the Four Bungalows signal' ... Sachin, Avi and I would gather and walk towards the next rendezvous point where Sushil would be just about on time (a 10 minute delay was mandatory for him :-)) We'd walk in those chappals that were the norm for us in those days, wearing not our fancy track suits, but those jeans, trousers, formal shirts, the works that we never cared about during the four years of engineering.

The conversation would commence and reach its zenith when we would hear the first whispers of the waves as we entered the rock beach through that narrow entrance. We'd walk a bit and settle down on a rock. Each of us responded to the sea differently, and the response varied everyday. On days, I would be a little quite and enjoy the salty breeze. On days, Sushil would be introspective while Avinash and I carried out an engaging debate on a current affairs issue. Of course, very rarely would the day end without a mention of girls. How can you pass from an age of 17-21 and not mention that? What a phase it was ... no cares, no worries. The irony was that we'd actually think that we were approaching life with a major philosophical bent of mind. How often have I given Sushil 'deep fundas' on females, studies, relationships, as if I had it all figured out. The best part would be waiting till the sun set on us, as if asking us to retire for the day. We'd retire alright, walk back to Seven Bungalows, pick a car to lean against, and admire all the good-looking females that would walk by :-)

We went there .... day in, day out, for years, right till the end of my stay in India. Of course, Sachin had joined IIT before that, and we were reduced to three. But there weren't too many weekends when he'd come back and we wouldn't go to the joint together.

Now, it is all over. As I sit here in my apartment, typing out this post, I wonder ... is this change for real? After all, it has been just 4 years. Has my life changed so much that my past seems so dissociated? So different? Why do I feel as if I am talking about a different age, a different world, a different life? Change is inevitable, I know that. Why am I not at terms with it? Why this ache, this longing for the times gone by. What would I not give up right now to be back there, right at 6 in the evening, with my three friends? Perhaps everything, perhaps nothing. Maybe this loss is worth it. For I have got something priceless out of it ... a memory that can never be tarnished, a writing in the sand that no tide will erase ... perfect, achingly perfect.