Before you decide for yourself, let me tell you what nostalgia is.
Nostalgia often feels like a sting in the arch of your spine, that downtrodden beast that knows nothing better than to capitalise on a mind caught off guard. It is often quick and uncomplicated like being hit by us; difference is, that you’re hit – not once – but over and over again, you die – not once – but repeatedly, at the mercy of none but yourself.
But let me tell you a secret today. Sometimes, if you’re lucky enough, nostalgia doesn’t hit you, it slithers back into your life like a silk dupatta slipping off a shoulder. It steps in mildly, almost at the fringe of extinction, sounding like a careful blow of wind caressing the smoothness of your back. It wraps itself around you like a playful hug, only warmer and curiously more nonchalant than you expect it to be. It then stays put, like a winter of sorts, when the wool, in some form or the other, remains in constant touch with your wrinkled epidermis.