Time-Sodden (Abstract)

Have you ever tried to squeeze time? No .Not in any literal or scientific sense .Not by applying relativity or modern physics. Not by working complex variables and numbers to arrive at a theoretically shortened time. But poetically. Emotionally. In a fantastic way. Take a span of time. And wring it in your mind. And just like liquid drips out of a newly laundered cloth you will find drops of emotions dripping out of the time-fabric. Keep pulling more of these time clothes and the more your wring it, the more you can squeeze out of them.

The early school days would be a good piece of linen to demonstrate. Pull it out. Stretch it out in your mind and holding both the ends start twisting it. There. You see drops of happiness falling. The bright hues of innocence dripping down your hands. Don't you? Put in some more effort. What do we get? Gushes of curiosity. Oh yes. They are cool. Unlike when you wring the somewhat sodden and well wetted cloth of adulthood. There too you find the rivulets of curiosity. But neither are they as refreshing nor so sparkling, are they? The dyes that stain the hands when you wring the latter piece are not as bright and brilliant as those we managed to squeeze out of the earlier baby time. There are lukewarm streaks of grey and scalding blacks that snake down the wringing forearms now.

But then a portrait acquires more depth with shades of grey than when it is daubed completely with magentas and peacock greens.

What colours would we encounter when we try and clean our cottons of our future? Would it be dirty and peeling colours of our youths? Or some stoic hues of brown and grey? Or perhaps the soothing tones of contentment? How wonderful it would be if we could wring out of an aged cloth streams of refreshingly cool wisdom! Would they be stirred with the essence of pride or pungent with vanity?

And now mixing a bit of physics into this exercise! Pardon me, all you real physicists if this does not conform to your notions or laws, for I'm as ignorant of the laws of Doppler's effect as on Comte's writings. But this much I can venture. Doppler says something to the effect that with varying distances the colours vary too. And similarly, would the brightness of innocence during our childhood appear as the blackness of ignorance when viewed from adulthood? Where is fear? Which of these streaks are stained by it? The green ones must be jealousy, right? What about love? Pink? Clichés! And sloth? Are there enough colours in the palette to map all the emotions? The varying degrees? Like the mildest blues of detached curiosity fading into the colourlessness of apathy?

Sometimes it feels that the clothes cannot be dried at all. Never drained of the stains. Sodden and heavy and colourful.