About being in a time-warp
This 'n' that
By Renee Ranchan

THERE are many things which you simply cannot throw away. You just do not have the heart to do so. Like the frayed threadbare shawl. Reverentially you bring it out every winter and snuggle into like it was a long lost friend. And no, you cannot think of lending it even to your best friend. Or what about your childhood doll — the one which has tufts of hair missing from her head, and nose that has endured relentless nibbling. Yes, both works of art done by you. But in your eyes no doll could ever be lovelier!

And when your grandchild wants to play with it you are not too happy. The same can be said about the first scrapbook you painstakingly put together in your teens or that old rusted squeaky tin box that houses your sewing kit. The same box which your maid had during a cleaning session disdainfully thrown in the dustbin. Thank heavens you had discovered it in time. The maid had assured you that she had emptied its contents before trashing it. And the look on her face when you lovingly retrieved and wiped it was something like: Madam has lost her mind.

Yes, there are many things you cannot part with though often enough you have thought of throwing them away. However at the last moment you retract (much to your relief!) from the decision. These things hold many memories, represent a wholesome sum of you and are a vital link with the past. No wonder really, therefore, that it is hard to let go. The sentimental tag attached to such things makes them priceless and prevents you from scrapping them from your life. And yes, that is understandable.

However, what about people who refuse — literally so — to move with times, cling pathologically to the past and find the present unfit to live in. They are the type who are stuck in a particular time frame and refuse to budge into, no, not the future, but the present. I know a middle-aged man who is a music lover. He even cuts down on his sleep to listen to music. Quite a character, you would say? He only listens to Indian melodies of the ‘50s and ‘60s and denounces all other types of music. He reveals his utmost distaste for any other kind of music without even bothering to listen to it.

The only gifts he gives are cassettes and CDs of yesteryears to his teenage nephews who never seem to get enough of MTV. Interestingly, Mr Oswal, that’s his name, is settled in California for the past 19 years or so.

And last Saturday, one of our guests did not seem to be enjoying her meal. The reason for her lack of enthusiasm was that her husband, at that very moment, was to part with his car. The same car which had been with him for over two decades. It had served them well till recently and only after a good, long search had they found a buyer — a mechanic. Nobody was interested in buying their rickety vehicle. That was cause for celebration, I exclaimed. All the more reason to eat. Could I re-heat the soup? The lady shook her head. The husband it seems, would be in an unhappy state for many days to come; and it would be months before they would buy a new car. A case of waiting for a respectable time before taking a new bride, no sorry, car.

Shall we drive further down? Some months ago I became friends with my co-passenger. Often you can tell your whole life’s tale to such people as you are unlikely to meet them again. The lady told me she was clinically depressed on account of her rotting relationship with her spouse. Her husband was stuck in a time-warp and despite all her effort he was going further into its quick-sand. The man was a prosperous businessman who owned property not in one but in four cities. But to my companion, her husband’s economic status was of little value. The house they lived in was in a bad shape and even the walls had not been repainted since God knows when. Her husband had been born and bred in that house and so change of any sort was a sort of breach of trust. What would his dear departed mother say if she found that he was planning to replace the torn-at-the-seat rexine sofa? The same one she had bought in the early ’ 70s. No, he would not have his parents’ turn in their graves on account of the wife’s ‘redecorating whim’. And why on earth would any wife wish to change, update or overhaul the home at her husband’s cost? Did she not know that such a move was a recipe for emotional disaster. The lady was so ashamed of her house that she would not entertain nor would she accept any invitations. How many times, afterall, can you invite a friend to a restaurant? In fact some time-warped people have nothing else to talk about save the glorious past. The past becomes their present. The only reality they know is that of the past. Says one such person, "All my talk would revolve around my college days or events of that time. The past was my life until my college-going daughter gave me a hard shake and showed me the mirror. Why was my hair teased into that high-bun? What was that Sadhana-cut about? The kids today can be straight and a bit too direct. She told me to come out of my time-fixation and grow up."

Indeed, being frozen in a specific time zone creates grave problems. Remember Rip Van Winkle? He fell into a deep slumber and rose after many years. He awakened to a world he was unacquainted with. Where were all the familiar faces? In the same way, a slumber which compels one to hang on to things and ideas that stop or at least curb forward movement does make you dysfunctional. And is it not the past which makes the present and the present that paves the way for the future? That is the order. Forward movement is what life is all about.

And did not the poet Tennyson sing: "The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and God fulfils himself in many ways lest one good custom should corrupt the world".