Dreams Of an Insomniac...

Jumping with glee, unaware of the repercussions

I was taken aback; shit! Examinations…

Each alphabet of the word has a different comprehension,

Each viewing angle causes such an altercation.

E-stands for endless studies, just to start,

As if horizons pushed back with no mark.

Marks? Is the serious question to get an answer for;

But questions on such a gamut of topics are countless and more.

Xerox copies strewn here and there,

A loose sheet of diag.; screamed I, “came out from where?”

Last day, my incomplete work invites the bundle of Photostat;

“50paisa per page bhaiya, it’s such a towering stack.”

A - Apple/atoms/Archimedes/abacus/antennas, Anxiety!

“Ab kya hoga?” is I sigh with all my lost gaiety.

Never thought I this, a week before the exams commenced.

Endless phone calls for solace now, dial a friend I, when tensed.

Mind in confusion to learn this or that,

With losing hours on the clock, nervous I sat.

Unit 4 is half, Unit 6 left. What about the 1^st unit?

Calculating my time, all my nails I bit.

I calls for interaction of subjects one into another.

“#^*&@ that’s FRS and EMF is a different subject all together.”

‘Last moment’ does the trick, I rub the chin, mind perplexed.

A firm decision, the concept belongs to this and not the next.

Non-stop studies, if it helps, are the last resort.

Syllabi outstripping the time, quite mundane chores we abort.

Bathing, shaving is luxury; two square meals are all.

Lucky are those who sleep four hours, for that’s called a ball.

A – This one stands for admonishes and not anxiety.

After our souls, our parents and teachers, for our state is such a pity.

“Kept on telling you to study, you never paid heed.”

Cycles of scolds and consoles are all that, now, breed.

Try, try, try again is the mantra.

Keep on trying till you get the funda.

Endless discussions till I finally understand it all,

Questions, doubts and revisions over the phone fall!

I is now incomplete tasks to be done.

For the left up pages in the notebook I run.

Consultancy is on a all time high,

Movement of books is all one can see by.

Overnight scanning, burning the midnight oil.

It’s not merely a phrase, for we indeed toil.

Day and night, sleep doesn’t divide.

It’s a nap of two hours, where our fears confide.

N – Now I get no N for this…

Aftermath of exams is all this and bliss.

I can grasp no more, think no more…

All the best to all if examinations knock your door.!

For those who breathe under the endless burden of life’s problems.

For them who crave for an existence without troubles.

For those who feel they have been singled out.

For those who are sick of their daily trifles and turbulence.

For all who dream of an immaculately peaceful and perfect life ahead!

A faint smile painted and I heave a sigh of relief,

The sun is up as I inhale d cool breeze.

Lock it now, whisper I. lock it till eternity.

Let none touch it now. Touch! for its perfect beauty.

I’d sat cross legged by the lake. I’d paced on the terrace.

I cried dry eyed. I craved to scream, scream out my face.

Sobbed sans noise, insulated was I, marooned all alone.

Gazed at the stars, wondered why, wondered what would atone.

Held my head, took a breath for I had heard-

Deep breaths help, don’t know if that worked.

Calmed I the inside of me, that wept like a baby;

Inside was the whirlpool that threw all astray.

One counted I, second followed; thought the third.

They were turmoil of my life, problems that stole my mirth.

One I could unravel, two was all His will as vanished the third.

Half tangible, and half were the child of my wandering head.

Exhaled it out heavily, resolved a few remedies.

Wiped away I the unseen tear, and dusted the creases.

Down I went to bed with yet another, a prayer.

Prayer, for Him to all my soul’s axles to repair.

The sun is up as I inhale d cool breeze.

A faint smile painted and I heave a sigh of relief,

Lock it now, whisper I. lock it till eternity.

Let none touch it now. Touch! For it’s perfect beauty.

Chuckled I, as the world smiled and all fell into place,

Giggled I, for life I realized was nothing but a dynamic race.

Those scars and scarlet wounds, those sighs of relief;

Alternate cycles form Life, untouched beauty is brief.

Concrete or the child of my head, troubles move my soul ahead.

I cannot lock the beauty forever, for static, they call it dead!

Keenly I stepped into the jungle,

The days were early my age being little.

Startled by many a fish and a mammal;

Stung by a scorpion, I hunted my animal.

I swam by years with a fish, even flew in the air,

Aries they laughed. For the sight of unicorns my eyes froze in pair.

I still kept on, charged with gusto;

Rode and raided till I stumbled on a Leo.

Ah! That lion, I sigh. My eyes went wild.

For its luxuriant and fair coat, my cravings were all but mild.

Devastatingly debonair, smashingly handsome,

That lion of mine was aptly the king of his kingdom.

My hunter’s gun loaded, now that was all I wanted.

A hunter’s prize, the trophy on the wall to be of vaunted.

Stripping his skin, making him mine was all I wished,

But for that single sight of the lion, this hunter fished.

He roared thunderously! His gait - most elegant.

My gun though was loaded, plans now were less cogent.

As I observed its pugs day in and day out,

He stole into my routine my life, my intensions turning couth.

Delayed I my scrupulous plans, lowered I my gun.

Keeping the animal alive, watching him was much more fun.

It got accustomed of me, as I got of him,

As days flew, I praised the work of Him.

I’d enjoyed a fish dance in the lake once, long ago;

And my arrows of desperation got it in a go.

For many apart from that fish I remember, my heart beat;

And my soul lost them forever, after the hunter’s feat.

I glare at this lion today; smile, and it smiles back.

I have it not on my wall today, but I’m in its heart’s rack.

My gun lies rusted, for it enjoys its love now;

For the love of the Leo, learnt I, lust needs to go.

Often have I been questioned, “Why this Independence Day?”

Often on my overzealous expressions, many have confronted me, “Just standing up for the tricolour today won’t make a difference.”

Often for my sharp criticism of youngistaan’s coolness, “Standing up for the Anthem today, won’t take her forward,” is all I receive.

And often have I thought an answer for this.

Never did I stop romancing my lover,

But Valentine’s my annual visit to the jeweler;

Love her I, throughout the year,

But the 14^th is the day I remember – I love her.

Ups and downs throughout the days,

And I kick start all again in fresh ways.

That’s not the only newness and the Hope’s ray;

But 31^st December, I celebrate new beginnings throughout everyday.

I’d as always given him a shoulder to cry, his love’s life did we pry.

We rode into the jungle, chewed a crab he sought to fry.

Vodka on the terrace, Whisky in the car do we remember the exams’ syllabi?

But the first Aug. Sunday, my friends, take an occasion to give merry yet again a try.

Oh! That cracker did you see? It lighted up the moonless night.

My pious aunt commands weeklong, “are the sweets and flowers set right?”

Ram, Ganesh and Lakshmi have their perpetual nivaas here, she sights;

Yet on Diwali, she commemorates the inexorable Gods, who otherwise too are bright.

Father Mathew and Ali bhai are no different I suppose;

For Ali’s mother religiously sits five times in that pose.

Then why does Fr. Mathew on 25^th, put the Rum cakes on the stove?

For Jesus and Allah bless us always; their hand forever on our brows.

I start with a yawny good morning, and the night she hugs me to sleep,

I obey and disobey her relentlessly, but she continues in my welfare to peep.

This June 4^th, I gave her a leather bag for all her kisses and love to keep.

I love my Ma as every child, but on her B’day I tell her I love her deep.

My parents, my brother, my friends and the lover;

Not forgetting the Lords above; there’s day to each, to show our love.

There’s a prayer or a gift or a toast rose,

Then why such ado about us, before the tricolour, to rise?

My singing the anthem won’t aggrandize Her.

By not singing even won’t bind her pace.

But toiling for her daily differs from singing on her B’day.

Remembering her daughters and sons, cheering her in the race!

It was the evening of August 6, a dusty, humid and an unwelcome evening. Unwelcome all the more as I had trudged one kilometre and half uphill for a class and found the door shut on my face. Grumbling and stumbling down I waited for the bad public conveyance at the bus stop. The filth troubled me. The squalid odour was making me dizzy. And the beaten legs had already fatigued me and my head together. Panting, I frowned as each bus passed by with men dangling out of it. “What the hell! There is not even ample number of buses or autos,” I barked. Inhaling heavily, trying to regain my breath I scanned the place for a vacant spot to settle and ease my lazy legs. “Can’t even breathe before running to the class? What a pathetic schedule,” was my everyday caterwaul as I raced from college to attend the class.

I was scanning that vacant spot for my poor lazy legs, my eyes caught the attention of a young man of early twenties, dark, healthy with a paunch struggling out in an off white, overused polo t-shirt. He was furiously gesturing something and a group of five girls, ages ranging from 15 to mid twenties, clad in some sort of a blue uniform, glared at him. Wincing! I suddenly realized something and wondered whether he was making fun of someone? No! Was that a group of friends making merry by playing some ‘who remains mute the longest’ game? I stared, unable to understand. My eyes swayed a little and there was a young boy, winding up his teens, giggling and… again? He too was gesturing. I scanned the whole place again and that little bus stand was overcrowded with these blue uniformed boys and girls, grouped in small numbers, all gesturing, furiously as I thought. My lazy brain woke up to remind me of a Deaf and Dumb School nearby.

Suddenly all my exhaustion and enraged frustration vanished away. I was zealously engrossed in them. There was that first group of five lasses and a lad. They now were smiling as if pleased by some satisfactory outcome of the power packed story the boy had been narrating. One of the elder girls was now in brisk conversation with him. There was another… behold! She’d been signalling somewhere else. And behold again! She got up and darted towards another group of boys. And again all I saw was brisk hand movements- curling and twisting, fingers numbering, touched the head now, patted the other hand and clicked at the chin then.

My friend who accompanied me was still busy on the look out for the bus. The road traffic decibel ebbed to zero for me. It was all quiet. No sound; absolutely. Oh! The girl I forget. So she and a handsome young boy were discussing over something, I guess, as she excused herself to grab a notebook from her bag. Flicked pages and they resumed their talk. They study? I thought in bewilderment. My lazy brain was turning foolish now. They studied indeed. I was compelled to ask them “what subject?” but couldn’t muster the courage. Yet another circle of girls gossiped, yes I’m sure for I couldn’t get their gestures but their expressions. Girls are girls.

Returning back to the notebook group, a couple of them giggled, I noticed. And a scene from my day at the college flashed as I observed another blue apparelled. He smirked as he rubbed his fist on the left side of the chest. And I had hummed a nineties love song teasing my friends earlier in the day. I smiled. And it was earnest. It was bliss! It was so silent; yet there was so much of conversation, so much was being said.

How I, vouched with all my needs, still suffer of my greed.

How I, with all the gifts, still suffer of meaningless fits.

They were a mute living. But they were truly living.

I’d been all chattering, but all was just cribbing.

All my heaviness of the day had evaporated. Their ecstasy and tranquillity was taking over me. My heart craved, and tempted to join their fun, join their normalcy, away from my agonies. Handicapped, and spoilt for life, they had no qualms and lived their fullest; Lived the normal-est. What troubles are mine? I ponder. What troubles are mine? I still am pondering.

I succumb to sin for my soul’s sinister;

I care for them for my soul craves for Christ.

I do what I am.

I can fake and pass an illusion, but

I do forget I breathe disillusions.

I paint a canvass that’ll tear soon.

I compose euphony but that won’t croon.

I do what I am; for

To do is to be.

I sit and brood, head hung in dismay.

Behold!

I remember I can turn a page.

I desire a portrait awed by the world.

I strike a chord for the vibes to be heard.

I am what I do.

I mirror a soul; soul mirrors not my life, but

I mirror a soul that mirrors my style.

I am sinister, so I’ll succumb to sin;

I crave for Christ, so I care for them.

I am what I do; not

I do what I am.

To be is to do; not

To do is to be.

Lush green mowed by the cows.

Eucalyptuses lined up in rows.

Hover everywhere the coloured flies.

Busy bee many a varied nectar tries.

Poppies, pansies and peaches potted,

Reds and magentas in the sea of emerald spotted.

Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...

It will move as would move the wheel.

It will retreat as would the souls recede.

Sun climbing up the stairs,

Reaches the head and stares.

Stares it down with a frown,

The golden crown does make brown.

Reds sublime, greens whine.

Listlessly doze off even the cows, dogs and swine.

Stretched beneath the peepal a charpoyee.

And talk the men, of the sarkar, yawning there, coy.

Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...

It will move as would move the wheel.

It will retreat as would the souls recede.

The peepal loses a sheen.

And betrayed by many a man umpteen.

Rustle n crustle the brown;

Griming now every nook and corner down.

It rains leaves n buds.

Lo! The figs display their skulls n heads.

Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...

It will move as would move the wheel.

It will retreat as would the souls recede.

Rains culminate, precipitate now a smoke

The kitchen n granaries are nothing but broke.

It’s the decline of the golden regime.

With lesser in hues take up the task for a hundred dime.

Charpoyees are now in the company of the demy-suns;

Lest the chill swallows up their sons.

Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...

It will move as would move the wheel.

It will retreat as would the souls recede.

Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...