Being nostalgic is a typical state of mind among elderly people. The mottled walls of old houses, mom's palm-leaf fans, grandma's kerosene lamps and strains of old melodies are all things that warm the cockles of my heart and fill my dreams.

Today it is encouraging to see that film companies are sponsoring a nostalgic film week, nostalgic albums are staging a comeback, and even restaurants with meticulously designed surroundings reminiscent of the past are sprouting up everywhere.

Among all these things, however, what most struck a chord among us greyheads was the decision to renovate the Lyceum Theatre, a venue that was at the peak of its glory from the 1920s to the 1940s, and a venue that has seen the ups and downs of this metropolis, known at that time as "The Paris of the Orient".

To add to the truthfulness of the ambience of the 1930s, vestiges of that period have been retained as much as possible. The programmes, it has been said, will include those reflecting the lifestyles and true sentiments characteristic of that time, appealing to a specific stratum of society.

In addition, instead of fashionably dressed young ladies stationed at the gate to usher in the movie-goers, formally attired old gentlemen will be assigned to do the job.

Alongside the restoration of the Lyceum Theatre, which was said to have cost around 15 million yuan, a convoy of vintage cars will be cruising the bustling streets of Shanghai. Though curious in the eyes of the young, it will surely make a grand spectacle to have these oldsters, splendidly outfitted, gliding along surrounded by all the glitz and glamour of the 21st Century.

Strange to say, however, the trend towards nostalgia has met with castigation in the press. One writer categorically denounced it as an attempt to pull back the wheel of history. He asserted that becoming nostalgic is a disease.

Well, being nostalgic, I must have caught the disease, as diagnosed by him, mustn't I?

The days when the country was plagued by humiliating hunger are still fresh in my memory. A colleague of mine shared with me a piece of steamed bread stuffed with sweetened bean paste. Am I a diseased person if I were to recall the pleasant experience with relish, even though the cold bit of dim sum wasn't any bit tastier than today's sophisticated refreshments?

I'm always tickled pink whenever I recall the time when my mother was fanning me to sleep with her palm-leaf fan though I do not intend to trade the air-conditioner for a palm-leaf fan.

Being nostalgic can't be equated with a return to the past. The writer must have put his boot on the wrong foot.

One's past can sometimes be compared to a mix of mud, sand and stones. After being flushed by the torrents of time, a few brilliant pebbles will remain, emitting enticing glitters from the riverbed from time to time. That is what we call nostalgia. It is a reflection of experiences embodying humanity's genuine feelings.

That being taken for granted, what the hell has the writer to kick up a fuss about?

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