When the monster under my bed left without saying goodbye!

It’s middle of the night. You have had a long day but even though you are tired and cranky after all the work you have done today and more so, for all the work you still have not managed to get done with- you can not sleep.

You draw the curtains close, turn off the lights, punch your pillow and rub your feet together gently under the blanket which could not get more warm or comfortable. You can sense your back muscles relax as you lie while emptying your head from all thoughts so as to tell your body that you are about to sleep.

But just as you close your eyes, it’s as if all your sense have sprung into action. It’s now, that you can hear distinctly the cat meowing out there somewhere and you think about the light outside your room that keeps flickering.

Although nothing really provoking has occurred but you suddenly open your eyes and sit-up straight as if someone has punched you hard in the stomach. You can actually hear your stomach growl. You don’t need water, you are not even hungry and you are damn tired but there is an incomprehensible vacuum in which your head is hung and you cannot bring it back. In that moment of despair as you focus hard on ‘whats gone wrong?’ , you realize you need nothing, you want nothing and you are alone. It simply gets frustrating.

under_my_bed_upgrade_803325

Advertisements

There was Something in that Place to which the Mind could not be Indifferent!

The summer of 2014, I  happened to visit this place, I never knew existed, a few months back. In the heart of a street crowded with workshops and greasy mechanics, was the gate of this quiet place, whose inhabitants were absorbed in their own pace and visibly oblivious to the life outside. The building was said to be about a century old but I personally always doubted this information for a century old building could not be in such a good shape…..not when it is located where it was located.

Luckily I had a chance to meet a lot of new people and though it does not happen very often but, I wish not to forget the people I met.  

That sturdy, old woman with big blue eyes behind those big round glasses was a class of her own. A woman from a foreign land but her apprehension of the locals was remarkably astute.

The old man, short stature, bald and the kind of man who kept his half moon spectacles at the tip of his nose. Someone with not a very good sense of humor. His company I never fancied. A man of principles and discipline. But he valued his principles more than the people around. I won’t say his preference was wrong but it certainly did not match my taste. 

A man in his early thirties. Over- weight, curly black hair. He looked much like some afro-american except his thick mustaches that curled upwards from the edges. He was always good at making jokes and especially parodies. But otherwise, a shy person. 

I knew that ‘R’ was christian. She was a happy person who loved to talk. She seemed very animated when she told me about her experiences in Malaysia. I bet she regrets not marrying those Hindus and Sikhs who had proposed her but much as I can tell, she has a happy home. She was the kind of person who make the whole place come alive. 

The best one was ‘I’. That young skilled man who knew what he was doing and why he was doing. I must above all appreciate his patience as a teacher.

‘S’ was a good kid. I know I intimidated her because she never stopped smiling when I was around. I believe that was a good thing.

I always found it strange the way ‘S.B’ always fought and resisted taking her medicine and injections, but she never said a word to me and always did what I asked her to do. Although I was glad that she showed me some respect but her silence with me always left me uneasy.

It was hard to swallow that ‘R’ died. He was in a terrible condition. His leg looked awful. What still haunts me is the time his every breath had become visibly painful yet, when asked, he did not as much as complained. Not able to reply, he sufficed to smile. In the world where we strive to be heard. Trying in vain to make our insignificant selves sound significant. Crying at every little thing. There was this man, wise enough to keep his dignity when disease and poverty had taken the rest away from him.

‘N.Z’ , the pushtuun, also had incredible patience. That gangrene and daily dressing must hurt a great deal. I’m certainly not proud of it, but I could never look at his foot without getting nauseated every time. I once forced myself not to look at his foot. On the face of that old man was always this child like innocence. He always looked the way a child looks with curiosity and bewilderment at people, trying to figure out whats going on with all these  serious looking people.

I wonder who was the lady with the camera. I never got to know her. With her incomprehensible German, she sounded as if she is cursing someone while she was smiling as she talked. I imagined Hitler speaking like that, all the time she was there.

And I feel obligated to give honorary mention to the beastly german shepherd with whom my encounter was most unusual and thrilling but certainly not pleasant. I once happened to go to the administration block when I passed by an office whose door was open. Walking at my leisure, I was just passing by when I noticed a bull size dog staring at me from inside the office. The dog apparently did not like me much and started barking. As he stood up, he was as tall as me. For a second or two I just stood there trying to figure the magnitude of severity of the situation when I finally realized that someone was angry and someone was coming towards me and might actually bite me. I practically ran and did not look back till I was safe. I was terrified then but I must admit that I loved the adrenaline it gave me. And now to think of it, anyone watching the whole thing must have found it pretty hilarious.

For that place where I may not go again, I can borrow Metcalfe’s words that he had said about the Indian subcontinent in 1800’s, “There is something in this place to which the mind can not be indifferent”.

a

Its not one world with countless beings. Its One being and the countless worlds

  I was too young to remember the first time I had thought that, ‘What if I find out that everything I see and everything I hear, is not the same as what others see and what others hear?’ Every time such a creepy idea came to my mind, I would shake my head and distract myself with anything that regular kids do.

   But, I never got rid of this particular thought. Some things have a way of keep coming back.  The only difference is that the idea is not so creepy any more. ‘Perspective’ is the friendlier term for this concept. Why should I be afraid to know that not everyone is seeing things the way I do? Why does it have to be such a bad thing? Maybe, it is so because we are naturally afraid to be alone and to accept this idea means to accept that we are after all ‘alone’.

  I have started accepting this idea for quite a while now and what I have found is not loneliness but solitude.

images

Once in a while!

Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think
Enjoy yourself, while you’re still in the pink
The years go by, as quickly as a wink 
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think

 I can safely say that for the past quite a lot of time I have been particularly diligent towards my studies. But this last assessment, I have very effectively screwed up. Today however, happens to be the first day of the month with no assessments (I readily put my faith in such promises), and such a thing demands a little celebration.

You work and work for years and years, you’re always on the go
You never take a minute off, too busy makin’ dough
Someday you say, you’ll have your fun, when you’re a millionaire
Imagine all the fun you’ll have in your old rockin’ chair

 It was a lazy day. Woke up around 6 am and then deliberately slept again. All I practically did today was sleep and read this book by Mohsin Hamid that I’ve been longing to read for a while. Then, I just got out of my room and started walking. Aimlessly.

                          Photo5151

In the stillness of time and away from all noise, there is a pleasure that can not be described. Once in a while, we need to relax. Once in a while, we need to empty our heads and think of nothing but that black bird, who is watching you and the fat cat, lying and yawning and look how clear is the sunshine. So pure. So warm. And the way everything glows in this golden light. Bright yet soft. Don’t they make you feel alive? What can be more exhilarating? Its a luxury we sure all can afford….at least, once in a while.

                         Photo5144

You’re gonna take that ocean trip, no matter come what may
You’ve got your reservations made, but you just can’t get away
Next year for sure, you’ll see the world, you’ll really get around
But how far can you travel when you’re six feet underground?
(Enjoy Yourself- Guy Lombardo)

this too will pass

   A Persian Sufi poet, Attar is said to have told a story of a powerful king who had asked the wise of his time to make a ring that will make him happy when he is sad and sad when he is happy. Those wise men gave him a simple ring on which were etched the words ‘this too will pass’, which very efficiently served the purpose.

  Tomorrow I’ll be 21 and when I thought about it today, out of no where came this thought, ‘this too will pass’, and surprisingly the thought is neither gloomy nor pleasant….its just a plain fact. But, I’m bound to think that if this too will pass, then what will remain? Considering the average life time to be 65 years, I can safely say, I’ve lived one-third of it, and it has just passed. I don’t know why I become so desperate to make my existence meaningful. I don’t understand the desire that ‘in this moment I’m alive, I’m here and it should matter’. But this desire, doubtlessly arrogant, is present and there is no denying that.

  I never really have thought about how can I make my existence matter but there is one thing I know, that is, when we lose people, alive or dead, they live in our memories. We remember them as we know them and we hardly ever truly know them. So, the memories are corrupt, which I find an insult to the person being remembered. I will not like myself to be insulted like that. I will very much want to be remembered for who I am, if I am to be remembered at all. I will want to be remembered with my flaws and goodnesses but more importantly, as a person that I am. With that, people may not be very fond of my memories but then, this too will pass and eventually I’ll be forgotten. But before its passed, I’ll want to be honest, with my life(whatever is left of it), with my self, now that I’m here. Now that I exist.

calm