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How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.
> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
I LOVE this photo of Peter M, it's the last one in column for those who don't know. Elizabeth took this near his home in Williamsburg - and you can just feel the two of them in conversation. She once referred to Peter and Phil (housemates on Ackerman Road) as experts in "competitive talking". What's on your mind here, Peter?
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