Time

Sometimes, when we talk to friends from years past, from times where the clock hands touched upon diamond studded digits that reflected the light of laughter that shone off our glistening teeth, the sharp hands of the clock, sensing the moment, move backward, back to those times.

Conversations that once could have been called banal, come back in foggy memories, and yet, are perhaps the brightest and only remnants of days that like lost civilizations are remembered through indecipherable scripts and can never be understood fully, only marveled at.

Perhaps this is why a text or a Whatsapp call consumes more from our data pack than is justified by its length, because it carries in it more than voice. It carries the sight and smells of the world that we once inhabited with the person now on the other side of the line. The "Hello" brings with it the dampness of the corridor of the house, the intake of breath, a reminder of the stairs climbed to meet.

When we reminisce that we were so happy with so less, was it because what we feel as happiness, as contentment and an ability to be satisfied with little, was actually the command and control that were given to us as we were Masters of our own Time?