Jargogled Impressions.

Parenting feels like this. Days seem like never-ending chores and coping mechanisms that keep our nerves on alert. And yet, before we know it, years go by, they are taller, more vocabulary and point of views, and they continue to shed their mannerisms we came to cherish.

The untidy rooms and the toy-sprawl seem an irritant, until they aren’t there anymore. And suddenly they seem to come alive in our memories.

Barely 2 decades of shared life moments, and then it becomes nostalgia, I guess, to be relived in the comfort of our yearning minds.

The 2 girls are a pair now, chums for life. As the younger one transitions away from parallel play, the joint-playfulness reminds me of my childhood, to the extent I can recall. Tiny flashes, or snapshots of a scene that got imprinted in long-term memory, retrieved in a snap due to one or other reason. Nostalgia rears its aching head again.

In Midnight in Paris, Gil (Owen Wilson) writes a book about a man working in a nostalgia shop, while dwelling over the bygone eras of literary fandom. The film messages us that nostalgia is fruitless and that the present always seems to be unsatisfying. There’s a lure to nostalgia that arrests everyone, no matter what era they lived in.

For our kids, these moments will be the first vestiges of nostalgia they will manufacture. It may be worthwhile making them in high volume and of good quality. The ROI is pretty incredible given what nostalgia is capable of accomplishing and how adroitly omnipresent it seems to be.

Make ’em. Them memories. With fervor and unbounded energy that snaps on to their young, prolific mind. What is now, will be gone.