I have always been known to be the one who remembers the minutest details about everything that transpires in my surroundings. Besides, being the proud possessor of sharp observation.

Though my memory was never photographic, but still it did rank among the rarest of its kind seen in today’s era. Remembering phone numbers, birth dates, personal preferences of dear ones, colours of dresses worn by people known to me over many occasions, registration numbers of vehicles owned by my friends and colleagues, who liked which actor and so on, was something I did effortlessly.

With the turn of events in my life, as tasks at hand increased with the fog of worries growing thicker, my brain soon began to lose its magical memory.

Images began to blur, details reduced to headlines and names turned out to be the biggest victims. I know, many of you find remembering names tedious with frequent lapses. I sure have heard that a number of times. But, seeing it happen with me, sounds like a nightmare to me, even while writing about it.

The last nail in the coffin of my sharp memory came with my pregnancy. I would have conveniently blamed the pregnancy hormones, but their levels have ebbed eons ago with me left with a damaged power of reminiscence, proving otherwise.

The emotional turmoil and psychological shattering I suffered in the past two years, clearly washed off my brain’s power to remember the intricate details, leaving it blank like a clean slate.

Today, I struggle to remember my appointments of the day, the day and date, names of kids of even my close friends and also the content of my blog posts written not so long ago. Remembering the chore I had in mind while heading towards the kitchen sometimes calls for straining my mind and often retracing my steps to get answers.

Meeting deadlines is quite a task, for I often forget to make notes in my little book. I am startled by many things on daily basis that we normally take for granted. I fail to remember which pizza I had ordered couple of minutes ago on phone, confirming my phone number has me thinking twice. The list is painful, embarrassing and frustrating, requiring me to invest a lot of time trying to recall and leading an organised life.

But, like every dark cloud, my forgetfulness too has a silver lining. It has greatly helped me in moving on from a broken marriage. It has washed off most of the painful memories besides the happy ones, making living in present while planning for the future, lot easier than would have been the case otherwise.

I am seen to struggle recollecting details of my life hardly two years down the line. It is actually good for me, is something that I have recently come to realise. While I struggle with my forgetfulness, I sure have strong reasons for loving my life this way.

The existence of forgetting has never been proved:  We only know that some things don’t come to mind when we want them ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

The song on my mind:  Aate jaate khoobsurat ~ Anurodh