Toast to the past

Snip…. snip…. snip….. My scissors have been running for as long as I remember. Or no… it actually started with my developing the habit of newspaper reading.

Considering myself lucky to be born in 81, a year many consider as the beginning of change. A change that has seen us transcend from a socialist past to a more capitalist future. I have never questioned change but always felt lucky to have experienced the transition of an entire humanity.

Gas cylinders, phone connections, flyovers, TV, cable, music, books, media, computers, fashion and most of all our newspapers and the new age of dignity in India's evolving work culture. I picked up my first newspaper to read when I was 12. Fascinated by history, political differences in between groups and Geography as well as the very need for something called as national borders, the combined aspirations and national policy of this country daunted my thoughts. In a country fiercely competitive as is still, I never felt comfortable in the educational setup as I grew detached more and more and started dreaming more and more.

There were so many new things that were flooding the newspapers. I felt the need to capture this and hence I cut all that was relatively new to the conscience of this country. I remember that not so long ago our news papers used to be completely black and white. Then one fine day there was a colour edition on a Saturday of the Times of India. I started calling it the coloured paper as the world used to know it as coloured pages. Now it is impossible to imagine even because even the main paper has lots of colour with advertisements. It was just brought to my notice as I asked mom for the coloured paper for which ma shouted out that everything is coloured now and its the past that has quietly stayed on with me.

I was forced to think how many of such things still linger on as it is in our blood to preserve our thoughts as well. That's the way Indians are. We dont throw away things and certainly not the words that we speak. For as long as I know bottled water is called bislery, photo coping is called xerox. Even if Chinese food in India is very Indian but we have always preferred to call it otherwise. Parents still talk about their children choosing a certain line or field. Weird! what the fuck is a field anyways.

Grand ma tells me that when in California she never threw the cases, boxes and bottles that used to come from their walmarts. They would have thought that she is crazy or something.

Old habits die hard, our evolution grows young. The past is a witch and her broom is like a comet leaving its trail and leaving us enchanted. But life is a circle and we keep coming back to the witch, to turn the crystal ball and tell us what the future beholds. Truly! the past is a witch and our life is a bitch.