As a matter of lack of choice, or rather as a result of murder of choice, not a day passes by in my life when I don’t come across some arrangement of Roman alphabets that always makes sense to my literate mind.But there are some words that are forever condemned to have their existence intertwined with our distant or not so distant past.When I come across those words, a divine orchestra of words fill my day dreaming mind.
One such word that comes to my mind is “melancholy”. If I had ever done grave injustice that sprang to my mind. The first line of this para would definitely find its place as a stinking specimen. For an inaudible whisper of the word “melancholy” flooded my mind with memories that I had to let it out in this blog. In my not so distant past, I had to study a subject called alternative English. In my school days, it was a subject that definitely compete in the race to be my favourite. You hardly got marks. There was no such thing as right answer or wrong answer. It all depended on how much your teacher liked your answer. But it sure had some of the finest specimens of English literature still not lost in the pages of history.
Wordsworth, I really hope I am not messing up with the name of the great nature poet for I have resolved not to look up the literary piece that forms an integral part of this post. This is done with a misplaced sense of self-righteousness that I can do justice to my memories only if my entire post is untainted with anything but my memories. “Misplaced sense of self righteousness”- rings any bell. In my mind, I hear an explosion of bell metal that numbs my sense of hearing. These words always teleports me to the seats of inox kolktata, and I see joker mouthing these words to batman. Dark knight is a part of my recent memory and weeds have not yet attacked this castle. So, I shall try to quickly pass through my neighbourhood and zoom to my past.
About Wordsworth , he had written a poem called solitary reaper. I really don’t recollect all the words of the poem but a few words have stood the test of time.This was the poem that told me of the existence of the word “lass”. I first heard someone using the word “melancholy notes”. I found myself wandering across the world trying to help Wordsworth decipher what the beautiful lass was trying to sing in a language that he did not understand but in a voice that touched his heart.But therein lies an allegory of my life, whenever I hear the word “melancholy”, a smile spreads on my lips, I race to my school days, and I fail to sympathize with anything and everything sad about the collection of words that needs the word melancholy to describe itself.