And as the day of the convocation comes closer, a healthy dose of nostalgia – from one my favourite bloggers at IIMA
Sometimes I think I’m living in a miniature forest. At sunset, every winged creature within hearing distance goes into a frenzy. Outside the library, a large flock of some kind of small winged bird wheels and turns again and again, emitting shrill, confused cries. On the treetops, crows strike up their ungodly cacophony. We make jokes and laugh. And drink hot, sweet tea in cheap plastic cups. Meanwhile, the sun continues to set.
Odd how fleeting they can be, those moments that one wants to guard jealously from the curse of forgetfulness. “I wish there were an invention that could let us bottle up memories, like a rare perfume,” said the protagonist of some half-remembered novel. But that’s the paradox – what is beautiful is seldom remembered with the same intensity that our worst failures and our unhappiest times come wheeling and dancing in front of our eyes. The French…
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