Is There Something Weird About Nostalgia?

To talk about the fact that nostalgia could be weird, is quite weird in itself, inn'it? Well, ever since we were kids, in all those literary texts that we read or came across we could think of those times when nostalgia would often be personified, and with every favourite phrase of ours, or humming a favourite line, or sipping on a favourite line, we’d be exclaiming remarks of nostalgia, and even perhaps exhaling the same. 

Talking of the favourite phrase, for me, it’d be “Horns of a Dilemma”, one that I had read during my early second language classes. Now, this wasn’t a chapter from my hefty English Literature, this was from a famous Bengali short story, named “Mastermoshai”, the literal translation of which stands for The Teacher. 

No matter the umpteen number of times, I’d be uttering the phrase from my mouth, I’d always be ending up adding the word nostalgia, or whichever figures of speech would that be adding up to. Nostalgic, would usually be topping the list, with it being used for the most number of times.

No, please be rest assured that as I pen, rather type this down, I don’t feel any nostalgia and that it’s just merely for understanding purposes that nostalgia is being allowed to be post-mortemed here. Getting to the weird part now, well it might be said that it’s often from the opinion of others do you get to understand that nostalgia could turn weird as well. 

The other day, I recall humming this tune, “Country roads, take me home”, the one by the very famous and very talented John Denver that used some fabulous lyrics, especially reminding you of all your fantastic road trips, when you realised that more than listening to the song, you are just blurting out your own experiences. 

The realisation didn’t come out as naturally as I am mentioning it here, it came only after someone did actually point it out to me. Thing is, to me the concept didn’t sound as strange and uncanny as it did to the others, but just that the weirdness still remains. Am sure it has gotten something to do with my previous anecdote, which I’d be referring to, and would be fervently using it, whenever and however, as I pleased. 

Another story from my life says that the last time I managed to make an egg Xacuti curry before anyone could actually taste it, I began reminiscing about my trip to Goa, where we were sitting by the shacks, looking at the irregular crests and troughs of the giant sea ahead, talking about how far did we actually reach, and how much more did we have to cross, before we call it quits. Just then, as I about to talk about how we did walk on the sand barefoot, I could hear a voice tell me, “Well, yes of course, we are aware of your solitary contemplations. As of now, could we please focus on the Xacuti curry?”

Nostalgias are weird? Perhaps.