If I had my way, I would photograph all the memorable - extraordinary and ordinary - moments in my life; when my memories would inevitably dim one day, I would still have the photographs to refer to and subsequently refresh the memories. But a camera cannot become an appendage or an extra limb, no matter how much you think it could be - and photographs cannot substitute for memories. Life ultimately is a series of moments - and you can choose to preserve and embalm them in photographs...or let them let loose in the the wonderland of your memories, allowing them to change shape and texture as the years go by.
These are the thoughts that lazily swim through my mind during these unusually mild Omani July nights when I walk through lamp-lit streets, crunching upon fallen, brown-green neem-fruit (wasn't it only sometime ago that the branches were heavily laden with sprigs of white blossom - and the night air was palpably drenched in their fragrance?) and walking past balding bougainvillea bushes. When I look up, I can see the star-scape in crystal-clear clarity, twinkling away, utterly the same, as it has presumably been for so many centuries. Perhaps, a star extinguished itself centuries ago; perhaps, another one is taking birth - right this moment - as I write. But for my memories of these nights, there are no subtractions or additions to the sky scape; I simply walk and walk, their silver light raining down upon me, warm as a drizzle.