Past, present, and future

• It was summer vacation time and we – our family, that is – were doing the yearly tour of relatives. But that summer, for some reason that I cannot remember now, I was left midway at one of my aunt’s place while the rest of the family continued with their tour. So, there I was, living in a hospital quarter (the uncle worked in a hospital) in some remote hills, spending half of the summer vacation. There was absolutely nothing I could do there, except take a stroll around the lush green compound or sit at home as it rained endlessly. Some afternoons, when it was sunny, me and my aunt would go bring some sweet corncobs from the wilderness that was their kitchen garden and boil them to have as snacks. At other times, I read the only book that was present in the house – it was a book about the dacoits of Chambal, who, I learnt from the book, roamed around the ravines of Chambal on horses, with gun in their hand and revenge in their hearts. Even though I was of an impressionable age, I wasn’t much impressed with those dacoits. I was still bored and longing to be back home among my friends, who, I knew, were having much fun. I still don’t know why the memories of those days haven’t faded away into oblivion. Memory is a tricky thing, indeed.

• I’m reading Bill Bryson’s Neither Here Nor There. It’s a travel book about the author’s (mis)adventures while travelling through the whole of Europe – from Hammerfest, the northernmost town of Europe, to Istanbul, where it touches Asia. Bill Bryson is an author I enjoy to read. Having previously read A Walk in the Woods, in which he writes about his funnily informative trekking expeditions in the Appalachian Trail, I decided to read him again. With Neither Here Nor There, Bill Bryson is again in his reckless humour form. The last I placed the bookmark, Bill Bryson has already gone through parts of Norway, France, Belgium, and Germany and is about to enter Amsterdam. I’m following him closely, as he dishes out anecdotes, histories, travel tips, and plain memories, one after another, in his inimitable style.

• The other day I saw in Facebook (yes, I’m there too) a quiz which went something like “What kind of old person will you be?” Of course, I didn’t take part in the quiz, but it got me thinking for some time. Indeed, how different do we get by the time we reach old age? I’ll probably remain as skeptical about things as I’m now. Probably, a little more cynical even. And I don’t see myself shedding my laziness either. Things, especially, I definitely wouldn’t want to be are – to intrude on others’ lives or to become talkative to the point of boring people to death (two hallmark traits of old people). But, well, isn’t future a funny thing? I might just become the person I despise now.