I’d come down (gone down ?) to Bangalore on work.  I was through with the official part of the tour on Friday, which meant that I had the weekend to spend with my family and probably catching up with any friends who could be caught up with. 
The high-point of the trip was catching up with  .
Now,  Deepa and I just manage to get these flowing conversations going,  with great ease,  and our conversation steered towards the mess in the IT world.  I pointed out a parallel with the IT mess and an Arthur Conan Doyle story, a Sherlock Holmes mystery in fact,  ‘The Red-Headed League’.
The parallel is like this:

The Red-Headed League (TRHL) : A guy gets an offer he cannot refuse: get paid handsomely for doing practically nothing (copying out entries from encyclopedias onto plain paper)
IT Scenario: An Engineering degree holder from any stream (civil, architecture, automobile, electrical, electronics, IT, mechanical, chemical  and all of their combinations) gets a handsome salary for doing practically nothing (adding up to the bench-strength of the organization).

TRHL: The guy suddenly stops getting paid.
IT Scenario:  The graduate gets laid off.

TRHL:  The guy gets miffed that he is no longer getting paid for doing what he was doing (nothing).
IT Scenario: Same as with RHL.

Now,  Deepa and I were discussing about what was more depressing:  people getting into jobs without even bothering to see whether they would be happy/content with the jobs or people getting used to the idea of getting paid for doing nothing and actually looking upon that as a right.

Deepa remarked that she had never thought about  Doyle’s THRL in this context.  We then got around to talking about other things.  A long walk,  a tasty and refreshing cup of ‘baitu’ coffee later,  we were sitting down doing more talking when suddenly Deepa asked me about what exactly it was that I’d told her to which she had commented that she had not viewed it in that context,  and for the life of me,  I could not remember it either.  We both tried to retrace the conversation-tree, but to no avail.  We consoled each other that it might just come back to us later, and it did. 
Am I happy that it came back to me ? Yes.
Am I relieved that it came back to me ? Very.

Now, here comes the poser:  Why is it so easy to forget things which we actually enjoy/enjoyed,  bits of conversations,  entire periods in time which used to be so much fun, while remembering with excruciating detail every insult and slur that came/comes our way ?   I wrote about Pain sometime back and about fearing to tread into the recesses of ones’ own mind  sometime prior to that.   I guess we remember all too well that we have our bottles of Pain hidden away in some back alleys of our mind  but don’t always remember where exactly they are hidden away.   That could be why some of us are scared of dwelling inside our own minds.  I ought to know:  I’m terrified of exploring my own mind, at times.