Where is my memory located?

There was a time, many aeons ago, when lyrics of my favourite songs roamed freely in my memory, ready to flow into song whenever I wanted.  There were ready records of phone numbers of friends and family that I could rattle off at will. Birthdays and anniversaries were etched in my grey matter, giving me the joy of wishing dear ones on their special days.

Cut to now. There is a song that has been eluding me from this morning. It sits at the edge of my memory and teases me. I know that I can pick up my phone and look for it on the internet, but just for once I want to recollect and download it from that once sharp memory. As I walk briskly, I furrow my brows, as if that act will somehow help me remember. I give up after a while.

Courtesy – http://www.pexels.com

Has my memory been transferred to my phone? It is a shocking possibility. My phone holds my calendar, appointments, birthdays and anniversaries lists, mobile numbers, landline numbers, sticky notes, songs, voice recordings, news, weather reports, kids’ schedules, shoppings lists, book lists and many other things. Is there anything that I really need to remember on my own? Will I eventually lose my ability to remember even simple things without my phone? Seems quite plausible.

No wonder people clutch their phones as if their very existence depends on it. Wherever one goes, people are tapping into their alternative phone memories for simple, everyday tasks.

Such problems did not exist a few decades ago – a time when my mom could easily quote recipes and lists, where my dad never forgot where he kept anything, where my gran could recollect and narrate hundreds of stories from Indian mythology to keep us engaged.

Somewhere between then and now, our phones have hijacked our memories. And, sigh! The song is still teasing me from the edges of my memory.

Hyperlinking in the forties

After the forties have rolled-in, life has changed in subtle ways. There is always this feeling of being at the mid-point of one’s life, knowing that four decades have flown past, and there is much to be done. However, goal-setting has become more realistic, and one is generally more comfortable in one’s skin. 

Having said this, there is another side to this whole ‘forties’ story. And, much to my alarm it seems to only get worse. For want of a better term, I call it the ‘hyperlinking syndrome’. With teenagers and tweens at home, and multiple activities to coordinate, it is no surprise! 

Courtesy – can stock photo

This syndrome has nothing to do with either the Internet or technology. Let me explain.

So, for example, I go to the bedroom to pick up some clothes. Before I reach the cupboard, my eyes fall on some books that have been left there by my daughter. My brain hyperlinks to this new task. I shake my head and take the books to be put away. As I turn around, I find a towel lying on the floor. Hyperlink again. I pick up the towel, and have the books in the other hand. I head to the laundry room. While there, I realize that the washing machine has finished washing. Hyperlink. I take the clothes out to dry. Hyperlink. I need to water the plants. Hyperlink. I need coffee. I make myself a cup. Hyperlink. I make a list of grocery items that I need to buy. Hyperlink. I look for a pen. Hyperlink. I get distracted by messages on my phone.

It is only much later that I realize that I never took the clothes from the cupboard, and that my daughter’s books are still in the laundry area. This is how it is now.  

Hyperlinks are really cool in the tech-world, but when one’s brain hyperlinks to unrelated tasks, it is not so cool.
Writing down to-do lists doesn’t seem to help any! What I need is a voice instructor that orders and supervises me to finish every task that I take up, before I rush to do another task. 

Husbands and ‘dates’

Before I start this post, let me tell you that this post is not about husbands and dating.

The Indian festival season is upon us, and most Indian women, I’m sure, are busy stocking up their kitchens, and bringing out their sarees and traditional wear.

Courtesy -www.dreamstime.com
I am no exception. I have spent a few hours this last week trying to decide on which sarees to wear and the accessories to go with them.
So, picture this scene. I am pulling out sarees from my wardrobe, placing each one against my shoulder and performing a critical self-evaluation. My husband is in the background, watching TV or reading the newspaper for the nth time.

Some of my wedding sarees capture my attention. Each of these sarees brings back great memories. Some were gifts from my husband’s parents, some from my aunts, and most from my parents. I pull out a peacock blue saree with a simple zari border.  This was the saree that I wore when I met my husband for the first time.

I am swept away in a wave of joy. Draping the folded saree on my shoulder, I rush to share this happy memory. 

But, but, but…instead of merely sharing the memory and the joy, I quiz him.

“Do you remember this saree?” I ask, my eyes gleaming with happiness.

He lifts his head from the newspaper rather slowly.

“Hmmm…what?” he asks, in slow motion.

I repeat the question. His face suddenly takes on a wary expression. He knows the consequences of not remembering. I can almost see the gears in his head working overtime. He narrows his eyes and slants his eyes, hoping that these acts will somehow give him the answer to my simple question.

I wait. For I know that he is trapped. We have played this memory game many times with anniversary dates, birthdays, first time we met type of dates etc.

This is one variant of this game. I decide to be nice to him. I tell him that this is the saree I wore on our first meeting. 

He laughs – ‘relief’ escaping through his mouth. I laugh too. 

Just half an hour back he was reeling off Formula 1 statistics, as we sat watching the Monza GP telecast. So where do men store these facts ?

I have no answers…..I smile and get back to my wardrobe planning. My friends will remember what I wore and when I wore what! And I will remember their sarees too. 

And in this shared camaraderie, we will celebrate the Indian festival season, with lots of food, fun, selfies and gorgeous sarees. 

Best wishes of the season to all of you!

The lost suitcase

My friend and I recently took a domestic flight in India, to attend the silver wedding anniversary celebrations of one of our very dear friends.

Each of us had checked-in a small suitcase. The flight was a short one, and before we knew it, we were at the luggage carousel, waiting for our bags to arrive.

Mine was one of the first few to arrive. Fifteen minutes later, my friend was still waiting for her bag. By then, most people had taken their bags and left the airport.

We barely noticed all this, as we chatted on. My friend had her eye on the carousel, but there was no sign of her suitcase.  It took us a while to realize that we were the only ones left and that there was only one black suitcase going around on the carousel. My friend was really worried and we started talking about how we would register a complaint. The more worrying part was that the clothes for the party were gone now.

As we walked towards the customer service counter, it suddenly hit my friend that the black suitcase was actually hers. She had started packing in a red suitcase , but had shifted to the black one later. But the image of the red suitcase had stayed with her!

So, looking sheepish, she ran and picked up her suitcase. We had a good laugh!

Over-protective Passwords

I pride myself on remembering people’s faces and their names, friends’ birthdays and anniversaries, most of the time.  Thanks to smartphones, this skill is now slowly failing me.  I have relegated the power of my memory to my smartphone.  I spend time keying in friends’ birthdays, anniversaries, important events and tasks, and then all I have to do is wait, wait for the reminders that the phone will unfailingly give me.  All that my phone asks in return is for its battery to be charged, so that it may discharge its duties to me, its master.

So spoilt am I, that I have stopped trying to remember.  This is proving to be a big problem with the numerous passwords my life seems to require, to stay sane, connected and e-protected.

To be a social-butterfly, to tweet like a bird, to chat with friends, to write an email, to unlock my phone, to access my bank account, to write to my kids’ teachers, to access my blog, to buy anything, to sell anything….all of these seem to require passwords.  And then, each time I transact online, I need an OTP. Phew!

How do I remember them?  Sometimes when an application asks me to change passwords, and I key in something that I can easily remember, I get a polite reminder that says, “This password was recently used by you,  or this password is too weak, please key in another password”.

Passwords are supposed to protect, but I feel helpless.  So, recently, I created a master list with all  my passwords written down.  My husband chanced upon this piece of paper, and promptly tore and trashed it, calling it unsafe.

I have now created a digital document with my passwords, and have ‘password-protected’ this document.  I feel a lot better.  And to remember this ‘mother-of-all-passwords’, I have clues stored on my phone!

Hop, hop, hop, from one password to another, to stay sane, connected and e-protected.