– Dr Dipon Sharmah
During my recent visit to my ancestral home in Assam, I discovered something wonderful: a few old books that I had won as prizes in various competitions during my college days. And to my utter surprise, they were neatly tucked away in a bookshelf. But to me, these are far more than some old books. They are little time capsules from my college days. On the opening pages are handwritten notes, signatures, dates and prize inscriptions telling a beautiful story from a bygone time. And I cherish these stories deeply.
The paper has yellowed. The ink has faded. It has slowly dissolved into the pages over the decades. Yet the memories and emotions remain as fresh as ever.
These books remind me of my college days, my classrooms, the competitions where my pulse raced and my palms grew damp and the teachers who believed in me, who saw something in a village boy. More than anything, they remind me of a young student who dreamt of the future without knowing where life would take him.
So much time has passed since then. The boy has grown up. He has faced the challenges of life. The world around him has changed. Yet these books still carry a piece of that journey. Sealed within them are memories pressed like flowers between pages, preserved by time and affection.
Some memories never fade. They simply grow more precious with age.
As I look at these books today, I am reminded that long before I became an assistant professor, a Head of Department, an author, and a mentor to hundreds of students, I was a student myself receiving these prizes and carefully preserving them for decades. That, perhaps, is why they feel so special today.
Some memories never fade. They simply wait for the day we are ready to remember them again.
(The author is Assistant Professor and Head, Department of Botany, Jawaharlal Nehru Rajkeeya Mahavidyalaya)
