Yesterday when I was young: Epiphany from a fever dream

Yesterday, when I was young,

The taste of life was sweet like rain upon my tongue.

I teased at life as if it were a foolish game-

The way an evening breeze would tease a candle flame.

The thousand dreams I dreamed the splendid things I planned-

I always built to last on weak and shifting sand,

I lived by night and shunned the naked light of day-

And only now I see how the years have ran away.

There is a famous song from the 1960s "Hier encore", whose original French title translates to "Just yesterday" or "Not so long ago". The song was subsequently released in English as "Yesterday, When I Was Young".

Written by Herbert Kretzmer, the English-language lyrics, tell of one reflecting on life, recalling how they had wasted the younger years on hedonistic pursuits, and now that they are older, are unable to do everything that they had planned; the lyrical implication is that the person may be close to impending death. Both versions of the beautiful yet poignant song is one of my favourites. And have had a connection with me through reflection and resonance.

Flus are a common tribulation as the season changes. As a heavy downpour drenched Dhaka over the weekend with a ferocity that seemed to mirror the tempest within, was down with a bad case of flu – an affliction I would easily ignore with nonchalant arrogance in my younger days. This experience, however, revealed a disconcerting truth: I had grown old…and weak.

The inexorable passage of time had taken its toll, as it always does.

Once posing as simmered down shade of serenity, solitude, as I struggled in the middle of the night with all the terribleness of a bad flu, pounded on me a profound sense of helplessness, weakness, and an eerie epiphany.

Not just me, but many in their younger years regarded flus and fevers with a cavalier indifference – being resilient and unyielding to the trifling inconveniences; days when the world posed with the verisimilitude of an uncharted expanse, ripe for exploration, and vitality seemed boundless, impervious to the ravages of ailment.

But as I lay there – ill, shivering and trying to craft a cocoon of comfort amid the chaos, the world beyond the windowpane dissolved into a blurred watercolour painting. The once familiar and somewhat solicitous sounds of rain and thundering felt the roar and war cry of some titan looking to drag me to Tartarus. Appearing to be a malevolent force conspiring to undermine my very existence, the ordeal felt no less than a page from a spine-chilling horror story. The scariest part, however, is that both the prey and predator were the same – one's own self. The weakened body and fevered mind yearned for the solace of companionship, for the comforting presence of another human being to provide succour.

Every cough, every shiver, and every labored breath seemed to underscore a vehement vulnerability – murmuring a reminder – the irrevocable march of time left its mark.

On such moments of affliction, there is also a sense of amalgamated aloneness. In such circumstances, one longs for the resilience of their younger self, for that brazen tenacity that could propel one through any tribulation, rendering discomfort a mere footnote in the grand narrative of life.

Resolve that once used to be steadfast and stout, wavered like a flickering candle in the gusts of uncertainty. As the river of time flows endlessly, one is often left grappling with their own fragility, a humbling realisation that the indomitable spirit of youth had given way to the staggering of age. When even the simple act of rising from a bed becomes an arduous endeavour, the pursuit of or dreams is no longer a relentless charge, but a measured contemplative journey.

Such episodes of throes often serve as reflections on the perception of one's own self, and the silhouette they have cast.

The contrast between one's past and present selves reveals the true essence of their journey through life. And so, with each raindrop that fell, I, as do many, seek solace in the realisation that even in moments of helplessness, there is a profound and enduring strength to be found within. It is a transformation as natural as the changing seasons, yet one that strikes with profound force when we confront it head-on.