nana

"Tell me about your most profound childhood memories, Nana." "Umm, my life wasn't what you'd call happening beta." "But Nana, I'm tired of YouTube. I need raw stories." Nana sighs. "Okay. So, our entire locality had one mailbox. The postman used to come once a week every Tuesday afternoon. Baba always received letters from the bank, Maa from her parents but no one ever wrote letters for a twelve year old boy. Except for my uncle from Surat. He wrote once a year and he also wrapped a surprise present for me along with his letter. That was the only letter I received all year long. One particular summer, the postman arrived and I knew it was time. I remember running barefoot, the sun was violent - but I hardly cared. I remember my feet, all those blisters but I also remember the happiness, the excitement of reading my one and only letter." "Well, wow Nana. I don't remember a time I was so goddamn excited to read a single message. I receive thousand messages everyday Nana." "You ignore them right?" "Yeah, we are a generation filled with ignorance but Nana, everyone seems to think we're growing." That moment, I realised how unbearably heartsick I am, how my generation is a red heart emoji with an arrow trying to pierce the already vacant chambers. My generation is a generation full of Whatsapp forwards we keep forwarding and deleting - not realising how we need more memory space inside our hearts and our homes - not cellphones. We are a generation who ignores over twenty DMs because we are just too busy, just too popular, living in the moment, uploading a story every second, a different tune for a different mood, a different date each afternoon. We are a generation who loves building walls and loves talking to walls, we find our home in polaroids - with people who appear like the full moon singingThe Night is Young - only to desert you during times of high tide.