Old or New?

I like to keep records of everything that happens in my life. At home, I have an entire drawer dedicated to carefully cataloged personal items. All my childhood friendship bands, gifts, birthday cards, photographs, books, journals, posters from my teenage years, music CDs - everything is preserved in fussy little shoe boxes. Organisation makes me feel like I'm a. in control, and b. complete. If they weren't all in one place, if I didn't know where these little pieces of my past life were, my life would feel scattered. I feel safe knowing the essence of my being rests in that drawer in a concentrated dose. It makes me feel certain of who I am, it lends me an individuality. 

My Dad can never relate to this. He finds these items to be a nuisance - worthless now, since they're old - occupying unnecessary space. Quite often, I feel annoyed with the way he regards old things. To me, one's individuality is strongest in one's early years. As we grow old, baring only the most tenacious of us all, the rest of us tend to get lost along the way. We forget who we are, our dreams and hopes, and what we loved. We get distracted. Our family, friends, society expects us to act in a certain way, and we do. That is why, these early memories are so important to me. They serve as a reminder of who I am. They help me to not forget so easily. Dad, on the hand, would sooner get rid of it all than worry about individuality. He is a military man, my Dad, and as such, he has a very practical mode of operation. He has traveled a lot, each new posting taking him to a new port. To him, all these items are just excess baggage, to be packed and transported - and for all the use they do one, not worth the bother. I don't believe he likes to place his roots firmly in any material belongings. He likes to remain a free man.

Once, he  asked me, "You keep buying all these books, there are so many of them already. What are you going to do with them? Maybe you should try selling them to the library outside the main gate." I was slightly irritated with his outlook on my books. I did not want to sell my books, I loved my books. Actually, I was secretly proud of my small little collection. I told him so. I said, "When I'm old, I want to have enough to cover an entire wall." He said disdainfully, "Do you want to be like one of those old nerdy ladies who has no life?" I told him my books would BE my life. But he just shrugged in a very superior way that was extremely annoying. "What have you got against my books?" I asked. And my Dad said the strangest thing: "I don't have anything against your books. I just think everything must be recycled and renewed. The new must always replace the old."

Even then, as annoyed as I was feeling with him, a certain truth rang out in his words. I knew he was right. It is the way of the world. We see it all the time. Aging species die out and new ones spring up every day in their place. Thousands of graying men die every second while thousands more are born in their place. The yellow of trees in Autumn gives way to green in Spring. A bright new morning replaces the dark everyday. It is a never ending process. Dad was right. We had to keep moving on, keep renewing. 

But right as my Dad was, I knew there was a certain significance attached to the old as well. We wouldn't have had the cell phone, for instance, had we not the telephone first. We wouldn't have had Modern Art without the Renaissance first. We would not have had Star Wars 1, 2 and 3 without 4, 5 and 6! The old is important. Besides, there is a certain charm to the old. There is a quiet wisdom there, a hidden repository of knowledge, of mistakes, of learning. History - our greatest teacher. There is a reason we gravitate toward the classics - the Charles Dickens, and the Alexander Dumas'. A reason the Victorian age buildings of South Bombay appeal more than the contemporary high rises of Juhu and Bandra. We find comfort and solace in the old. We find familiarity, warmth and recognition.

To me, each has its significance. Dad and I will just have to come to a compromise about how I'm littering his house with my old things. For as eager as I am to find new experiences, new friends, and new books; I'm way too attached to my old memories, old friends and old books to let go yet.