The Flicker of Then

Every now and then, in the middle of a busy day, something flickers.

It could be a whiff of something cooking in the air, or the golden warmth of a certain kind of sunlight, and suddenly, I’m not here anymore. For just a second, I’m back there - in a memory, a moment so familiar that I can feel it with all my senses.

The other day, while talking to a friend, we found ourselves stumbling into that shared space of nostalgia. That soft, blurry zone where memories feel more like dreams than facts. We were talking about our college days, and suddenly I was there again. Sitting at that tiny shop called Aklu's, waiting for my aloo paratha. I could hear the laughter of my friends, the clatter of plates, the familiar rhythm of a college afternoon. I could feel the sunshine on my face, the dust in the air, the smell of food that made everything feel okay. It was all so real for a flickering moment. And then it was gone.

Sometimes it’s home that comes back to me. A winter evening, quiet and still. I’m curled up on the old sofa in our living room, a plate of warm French toast in my hands - Amma’s French toast, the kind that made everything better. Scooby-Doo is playing on TV, my brother is next to me, and we’re just… there. No homework, no pressure, nothing to chase. Just the soft hum of comfort and the feeling that life is whole in that very moment. How I wish I could bottle that up. Keep it safe somewhere. Open it up when things get too loud, too fast, too grown-up.

And then there were the school days. The hallways that felt like mazes - long, echoing corridors where we chased each other, ducked behind corners, waved from one floor to another. I still dream about those stairs sometimes. About bunking class and sneaking behind the building with just two parathas shared between six of us. We’d sit in a circle, tearing pieces, dipping them into chana, laughing about our latest crushes, mimicking teachers, giggling over nonsense that felt like everything. We didn’t know it then, but we were living the stories we’d ache for later.

I think what I miss the most is not the moments themselves, but who we were in them. The version of me that didn’t have to plan things, or juggle responsibilities, or reply to emails. The me that just was. In the moment. Fully. Freely.

These memories – they visit quietly. No warning. No announcement. Just a flicker, and suddenly you’re there. And just as quickly, you’re back. Older. Busier. Maybe wiser. But always a little homesick for a time that doesn’t exist anymore - except in your heart.