Lord of the Rings and a Quiet Nostalgia
“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.”
Sometimes I think there's magic in re-recognizing the familiar. It happens when when you pick up an old favorite book, or hear a melody on the radio - and it sings to your heart, a tune you have memorized inside and out, like when you realize that you still remember all the words to your old favorite song from a decade ago.
During my last break, I had about two days at home, so I reached for my ultimate comfort: the Lord of the Rings movies. I put on Return of the King, and for the first time in a long time, I truly paid attention. After years of watching and re-watching these movies, I could most definitely recite all four hours of every film in my sleep. I could describe to you the tunes of each song Howard Shore composed, how those melodies shaped my childhood, and how it's as if I can feel the timbre of those notes down to my bones.
I could tell you how I read the books at age ten and twelve, thinking that, like most books, I would gain a new perspective each time I read the story anew. I could tell you how my mother, cousins, and friends at the time joined Tolkien's world with me, too. My mom once told me that with the release of each movie, my cousins and I would get together and go to the theater. Though I have no memory of that, I think of all the times since then - long car rides with my brother and cousins, where these movies would be a necessity, between car games of UNO and whispered conversations - relationships and a youth that I can never get back.
I think of how my brother and I used to recite one of Aragorn's speeches to each other, as if, "I bid you stand, Men of the West!" was our own personal battle cry. I think of the relationships I still have, how I made my best friend sit through the extended editions of both The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers in one sitting, despite the fact that she wasn't a fan of Lord of the Rings to begin with. I think of how that night, my brother came to sit with us and fell asleep on the couch while we watched, and there was this sense of natural camaraderie.
I think of the countless times I've watched the same scenes, amazed at the scenery, shots, and music, and how re-watching the movies always seems to invoke this feeling of melancholy, happiness, and awe all at once. There are few moments in my life that make me feel like this, and while I watched Aragorn draw the sword of Elendil, I was transported back into my own memory.
Every summer when I was young, my family used to drive down to Atlanta, and despite the long car ride, we would pack our car to the brim. And in between blanket forts and rest stops, that became home. There was a room in Atlanta that I thought smelled like India, though I had no idea what India would smell like. I had imagined it would be the smell of Atlanta - a mixture of mothballs and spices. When I was in India recently, I realized that the smell I had held onto wasn't related to India at all - actually, it was the smell of my grandparents, taking me back to a time when I was so young and innocent that a smell alone would make me feel safe.
Just like that distinct smell, some things can be so comforting yet elusive, like when I hear a word in Telugu, and inherently understand what it means, but I don't, not really, because I can't physically translate it. And in a moment, Tolkien's world and Peter Jackson's interpretation of it took me to different parts of my life, memories in which I had felt closest to the people I love in real life and the scenes flashing on the screen. Just like the characters' journey, I realize that sad smiles at a denouement can mean many things: a sense of sadness at the end of an adventure, a realization that your life is forever changed, or the ache in your heart you feel at the conclusion of a story. I wonder how stories can do that, take you to a world of fantasy and your own memories, too.
