What colour is nostalgia?

Stealthily creeps the feeling
of having been somewhere
with someone.
(Not always a literal place)
Of having travelled a distance,
many miles,
or perhaps a few significant steps.
Maybe crossed a chasm, together -
now each battling her own chasm.

Comes, unannounced, the thrill
of belonging to a community,
a kafila, even if for a while.
The camaraderie jumps out from
email threads long archived,
smiles back from chats long forgotten,
and laughingly pulls you back in time.
It takes a while to regain your present self.
The self that has its arms outstretched
towards the past, frozen in a high-five
but finds its feet in today -
rooted, grounded, unable to move.
Unlike time.

What colour is nostalgia?
That it drapes you in,
drenches you in.
Paints the moment with a hue
that’s happy and sad at once.
What shades would you draw from it?
What patterns can you discern?
It’s light in some places, dense in others,
but a uniform colour of reminiscence
that leaves you here and there at the same time.

So many people have crossed your path
So many whose stories you’ve partaken in
Some Shift+Delete-d with good reason
but existing still on the fringes of your memory
waiting to be discovered, lurking.
(The mind’s no computer; the keys don’t work the same way)
So many others you might have held on to
in intent or stray desire.
Too many strands to be holding at once:
each vibrant and colourful
deserving of rightful attention.
If only there were 10 of you -
10 lifetimes
24 X 10 hours a day.

Somewhere the roads diverged
without a chance of a hasty bye.
Why would you close that
which might bump into you at the next turn?
Lesser still those whom you want to re-meet.

The phone tells me I’m a call away
from hearing familiar voices.
FB-Insta tell me it takes a second
to ‘Like’ someone, again.
'Befriend', reconnect, ‘follow’.
But the mind?
The mind takes its own time to build bridges
over stagnating waters of old expectations
now discarded, lying around;
to reconcile the idea of a person
frozen in time long ago
with who they have become now.

What flavor is nostalgia?
That it stays on your tongue for so long:
salty, bitter-sweet, sour too,
lingering long after the memory is gone.
What dish would you whip up with it?
Whose taste would endure,
aroma intact.
Nay, it will vanish like vapour
into thin air
leaving you with naught
save the fragrance on your hands.

Have you tried plucking an enchanting flower
only to see it wilt in your hands?
Realized it was best left untouched
on the plant, in the garden?
So it is with remembrance:
people, places, events.
They are a world unto themselves.
Sitting smug in their intended spaces.
Smiling smug, their unmoved faces
at your retrieval attempts.
Parallel Universes, these
proceed with their routine as you live out yours;
dip in and out at will.

Sepia, the colour of nostalgia
sealed in dusty photo-frames
playing as movies in your head
kept shining with every replay.