Last week, I watched “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
(Part 1)” for the umpteenth time. I stopped keeping count years ago. Despite
knowing the movie so well that I know many of the dialogues by-heart, I
watch them afresh each time, eagerly. This is true for all Harry Potter movies.
I’m not saying that they are great works of art, which offer new meaning or
insights with every viewing (or reading). It is simply because, for me, the
series carries with it a sense of nostalgia.
As the clichéd line goes, I’m a 90s’ kid who grew up
with Harry Potter. It was the first series I ever read, from cover to cover. I
was initiated into the Harry Potter series thrice – is there any term for
thrice-born? During the first two
attempts, I promptly fell asleep by the time I completed the first chapter of
Philosopher’s Stone. I mean, it is very difficult to hold the attention of an
eight-year old with a chapter like that. When POGO started telecasting Harry
Potter movies, my brother and I religiously watched the multiple reruns,
setting aside everything else. My brother even tricked me into waiting for one book
every year, making it seem like a sacred custom of great importance and
‘magic’. It took me three books to realize how foolishly I bought into that
entire charade!
By the time we were in high-school, some of us had matured
into “Potter-heads” discussing books and movies with great enthusiasm. We were
in Class 10 when “Deathly Hallows (Part 1)” released. It was around the
time of its release when a few of us were going to attend an inter-school
competition. That Harry and Hermione share a kiss on screen was being hotly
discussed, oblivious to the fact that we had a teacher sitting a couple of rows
away. She turned around and gave us an all-knowing smile but luckily, did not
embarrass us further.
During a very eventful second year in college – a
story for another day, perhaps – a friend of mine and I delved deep into the subject of
assigning characters from the series, to various faculty and students. We had a
Voldemort, a Dumbledore, a Dolores and even a Hagrid, for the simple reason
that he had a noisy bike! One of the last things my friend and I did before
bidding farewell to the hostel was to watch a couple of movies from the series,
almost raising it to the level of a ritual. You see, the memories associated
with the series are endless…
In a manner similar to my initiation into the world of Harry
Potter, there were many false-start articles before I sat down to write this today. Too many ideas jostled for space, without any of
them germinating well. Besides, I was hesitant to put pen to paper – out of the
fear that it may turn out like an essay that I would write while preparing for
the exam! However, you never overcome your fears unless you face them, do you?
I decided to rely on the best source of material for my piece – memories. Watching
reruns of the Harry Potter movie has its benefits, you see. Moreover, with the
whole world coming to a near stand-still and nothing to keep us occupied,
aren’t memories the only ones to keep us company? (Apart from those “8 PM
tasks”, that is. Now, some of my friends may well accuse me of pushing my
ideology!)
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It has never been easier to feel nostalgic than today. I am
not talking of the fact that we simply have too much time to spare. I am not
even talking of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata being telecast
on national television. Even without the generous help by the likes of Schoop-Whoop,
Social media has transformed private reflections and quiet ruminations into a
very public, noisy affair, triggering a chain of people to jog their memories, for the fear of missing out is so widespread! Old albums have got a new lease of life, thanks to the lockdown. I check Facebook very rarely and Instagram even less – I’m
one of those Instagram users who logs in only to post or to check how those
posts are doing! However, these days whenever I do check, my feed is filled
with throwbacks, with plagiarized lines about how one longs for the
years gone by. This deluge is despite me unfollowing quite a lot of
people on my friend-list. Every now and then, a challenge rages on,
keeping people occupied with searching for photos suited for the challenge,
fishing for compliments and complimenting others on their pictures, in
expectation of reciprocation.
Unless
you know the person too well or unless the person insists on your liking/commenting
on the post, you can choose to ignore your Facebook or Instagram feed. (Trust
me when I tell you that I know of persons who go around asking people to like
their pictures and even unfriending them if they fail to comply!) The real
challenge is when the same is replicated on WhatsApp, especially in family
groups. The smartphone revolution, coupled with Jio’s Digital India
campaign, has indeed empowered a lot of people. Every new day brings with it a
new puzzle or a challenge, flooding the group with photos and messages, testing
not only your intellect but also your social skills. The read receipts can be
turned off for personal conversations, but not for groups. Seeing the
messages but not responding to them can earn you the reputation of being
‘unsocial’ on social media. I doubt if Shakespeare ever had such groups in
mind, but “to be, or not to be, that is the question”!
You might assume that I am complaining about feeling
nostalgic. I have nothing against it. In fact, I value memories and
reflections. How else do you connect with your old self? And unless you are
able to appreciate who or what you were, it is not possible for you to realize
who you are or chart a course for who you want to be. “There is nothing like
returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself
have altered”. What I am actually complaining about is the blurring of the
lines between the public and the private.
When some of my friends from college decided to “Zoom” some
days ago, I gave in to the surge of nostalgia, wanting to reconnect with the
group that largely defined college for me. The last time I met some of them in
person was five or six years ago, at their respective farewells. My memory of
the first such farewell stands out, because I was awkwardly silent for the most
part that night. May be, I made up for it when that senior came as an alumnus
in my final year.
A few minutes into the
“reunion”, topics veered off into small talk and of course, the ensuing
pandemic along with strategies to cope with it. Inspite of all the laughter
that ensued, realization dawned that our lives and trajectories had diverged,
post-college, with little in common to hold us together – except memories of
times spent together. Perhaps none of us had the heart to accept it or the
courage to say it out loud. I still like to believe that it was due to the
virtual, ‘dry’, setup of the meeting that such an anomaly occurred; or perhaps
it is just me overthinking, like always. Maybe it is just due to the pandemic. Or
maybe it is that the path I have chosen to tread does not have much of an
overlap with most others there. I still hope that if and when all of us meet in
person, it will just be like the old times. Or is it too much to expect? Was it
a mistake – because this may alter my perceptions of us as a group, in turn
changing the texture and smell of my memories, remaking them? Or is this what
they call ‘growing up’?
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Years after we have left this pandemic behind, how will we
remember this event? Will there be a throwback to these two months of
throwbacks? Will somebody collect all those challenges circulating on
WhatsApp and compile them into a book, "commemorating the human spirit and
creativity during these trying times"? Will there be a record of human
relationships that blossomed or broke down in this lockdown? Will waves of
nostalgia bring back fond memories?
Life will not be the
same after COVID-19. Will our memories be?
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