2 days since we landed in Portugal and 2 days of feeling like I’ve been hit by a tonne of bricks. Great weather, lovely company, fabulous food and still this strange feeling of heaviness. Maybe it has something to do with the lunar cycle. May be it’s the accumulated tiredness of the past few months finding an outlet. Unsure of what to make of it, I speak to my friend about it and she tells me about ‘saudade’. It’s the Portuguese name for an emotion that lives in this land, its people, music and culture.
It is a wistful longing, drenched in sorrow, for something that can never be had again. It is nostalgia, but melancholic. It is longing, but knowing it cannot be. A type of self-delusion. So, “saudade” is a feeling of lost connection with the most important feeling or thing you ever had, a desire for something that you lost – a country, a grandmother, youth, a son, a lover.
In English, it means ‘to miss’. It is a verb.
In Portuguese, it is a thing. A noun. Saudade.
A blank page and me. A bit scary. Not sure what happens next. No distractions of a laptop, a dictionary, a thesaurus, e-mails or facebook messages. Just me and the unruled paper. Both blank.
The click and clap of the cat-flap sounds like a bold red brushstroke on a bleak soundscape. The whirring of the fridge makes for a somber background of magnolia. The crunchy munching of cat food forms clusters of bright yellow daffodils scattered about. The distant low-pitched monotone of an aircraft marks the horizon, half land, half sky. Wonder what the pilot sees and hears at this moment. I look for the word count at the bottom of the page but all there is, is a corner.
The sweet sound of a smile drips into my ears from the eyes of a black and white picture on the shelf. It’s twinkling and naughty. It’s the life of the canvas. Like a patch of elegant and shy blood red tulips, gently dancing in the wind. Thus I navigate the map of my silence.
“Out of such abysses, from such severe sickness one returns newborn, having shed one’s skin, more ticklish and malicious, with a more delicate taste for joy, with a more tender tongue for all good things, with merrier senses, with a second dangerous innocence in joy, more childhood and yet a hundred times subtler than one has ever seen before.” — Friedrich Nietzsche
It travelled everywhere with me.
I spent countless hours with it. It was always there for me when I needed it.
It helped me do my research. It helped me reach out to friends and strangers. It kept me connected with the world when I thought I wanted to be alone. It gently encouraged my creativity and provided me with the required inspiration. It allowed me to express myself and soaked up a lot of my sorrow and angst.
It lovingly kept all Saagar’s pictures, documents and memories.It entertained me with music and films when I needed a break. It made me laugh and it made me cry. It patiently stored all my pending projects till I came back to them after long gaps. Over time I came to rely heavily on it. The thought that it was destructible crossed my mind a few times but I shoved it aside very very quickly.
Today’s date has been in my mind for the last 3 months as it is the deadline for a 5000 word article I have been working on. I woke up this morning, really excited about sending it in, got myself a cup of tea and started putting some finishing touches on it. The phone went and something had me completely distracted. I found myself trying to open a door, carrying the laptop in one hand a cup of tea in another and before I knew it, the laptop was lying open on the floor with droplets of black tea all over the key board. I did my best to get it dried out asap but first the cursor disappeared and then the screen went dead.
It’s gone. For now anyway, it’s gone.
I’ve missed it all day. The deadline has been extended by 1 week but without my laptop I am truly unsure of how I will get anything done. It was more a friend to me than I thought.