That day wasn’t anything special on paper. It was just another office day and just another tired commute back home. Yes, it was still the first Monday of the brand-new year - 2026, and I already felt exhausted.
By the time I reached my building, my body felt heavy - it was one of those feelings when exhaustion sits not just in your muscles but somewhere deeper. There was mild body pain, a faint chill, the kind that makes you want to curl up early and disappear into silence shutting out every noise.
And then, something unexpected happened.
As I was walking through the passageway from the lift to my apartment, there is this rectangular open space between two apartments where the air moves freely, especially since I am living on a higher floor. A sudden gust of wind brushed past my face - it was cool and gentle. And in that exact moment, I was momentarily transported back. Just like the sudden flashback that happens in Bollywood movies.
It wasn’t just wind, it carried a feeling - a known fragrance, a blurred but deeply familiar core memory.
For reasons I can’t fully fathom, it felt like I was no longer standing outside my apartment door. The irritating drilling sound from some adjacent flat- yet another illegal balcony extension- slowly faded away.
I was teleported back to a cozy winter afternoon from my childhood in Kharagpur. The kind of winter we 90's kids grew up knowing. The kind where the sun felt like it was softly cradling you, time moved lazily, and the air carried the fragrance of some unknown seasonal flowers.
I think I might have closed my eyes without even realizing.
I could see myself coming back from school on my bicycle, around 1 or 2 in the afternoon, discussing with my best friend the events of the day and at the same time feeling extremely hungry and thinking what Maa might have prepared for lunch. Somewhere in the corner of my mind was the excitement—and slight dread—that I needed to catch that day’s episode of Aladdin before my math's tutor arrived and unleashed the most boring, dreaded hours of my day.
That same kind of winter wind was brushing against my face. The same feeling of reaching home after a long school day. I could almost hear the cycle slow down, feel my feet scrape against the gravel and waving my friend goodbye as she took the left turn toward her home.
Like a ripple effect a flood of connected memories filled up my mind. The comfort of familiar walls seeped in.
My cats - all 5 of them, sleeping somewhere in quiet corners of the house and maybe one stretched lazily across my study table. As i kept my school bag down Maa would ask me to change quickly and have lunch - she didn’t want her afternoon siesta delayed. That simple, full, unhurried life. Which seemed rather mundane that time, but now, in hindsight, it feels precious.
For about ten seconds, I stood there, completely still, letting that wind pass over me, letting the past breathe through the present. It felt surreal—like time had folded in on itself. Like the child I once was had briefly stepped into the adult I am now, just to say, I’m still here.
Until a strong tempering of hing hit my nostrils and jolted me out of the reverie.
I was standing like an idiot for God knows how long in front of my apartment door, keys in hand.
Later in the afternoon, my body gave in completely. The tiredness deepened into something heavier. I felt feverish, my bones ached, and every movement reminded me how unwell I was. When you really feel sick, you mind also starts pushing all negative thoughts and sadness which you didn't need to be reminded at that moment. I had to lie down for a while, letting the day pause me instead of the other way around.
And yet, even in that half-sleep, those memories didn’t leave.
As I drifted in and out of a power nap, I found myself returning to those same winter afternoons—moving back and forth between the present and the past. It was vivid, almost cinematic, as if that brief moment with the wind had opened a door that refused to shut so easily and yet it kept blurring out to the present moment whenever I heard the Microsoft Teams chime on my laptop.
The day, overall, had been draining—physically and emotionally. But before letting it dissolve into forgetfulness, I felt an urge to write this down (even if this is being written two days later).
Because we forget.
Slowly. Quietly. Without realizing it we forget things - especially now, when we’re conditioned to thirty-second attention spans.
Just a few days back, I had stumbled upon a small post I had written sometime around 2010 - barely three or four lines. And yet, reading it now, so many forgotten details came rushing back. Entire scenes. Entire emotions. Things I didn’t know were still preserved somewhere inside me.
That’s when it struck me - these little reflections matter.
Maybe a decade from now, when time has eroded the edges of memory even more, I’ll return to these words. Maybe I’ll read them and be teleported again—to this day, this wind, this tired body, this gentle ache of remembering.
And that, I think, is reason enough to write.
(Image credit Paper Boat)
