I was driving the car, with Taya ji (my father’s elder brother) sitting in the side-seat, and my Abbu ji, Ammi ji, and Taee ji (Taya ji’s wife) sitting in the back.
“Having a good memory is a remarkable thing,” Taya ji was saying. “I don’t have a good memory. Can’t remember anything… figures, names, nothing. I guess nobody has got such a 3rd class memory as I have.”
“Well, I can’t remember figures and names either,” Abbu ji added.
“And that’s a very big problem our family has,” said Taya ji.
“But for some people, good memory is a torment,” I said.
“Those are poets!” Taya ji smiled.
Very silently, I cleared my throat.
“Is my answer correct?” Taya ji’s voice was still smiling.
I waited for a moment, and then said, “No.”
“Well, suppose you are trying to forget an incident, which always gives you pain when you remember it. But your good memory just doesn’t let you do that. What would you do? You’ll be suffering with more pain every time you remember it, and until your brain collapses, you’ll be feeling that pain increase every day.”
“No, no, no,” Taya ji shook his head. “The thing you’re talking about is something different. It happens with everybody. With me too. When my mind gets stuck on one thing, it just sticks. It doesn’t bother about anything else. What you are talking about is mainly concerned with the event itself, and the intensity of the event, and how you take it. It has got nothing to do with a good, or bad, memory.”
I continued driving.
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