Tag: Sleep

Monotony

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

As I close my eyes today,

One more night steps in,

And one more day fades away.

As I let the darkness crawl on me,

One other memory hangs in there,

Eating a part of my soul, a part of myself.

As I struggle to die a short death,

One after the other, my eyes wake up,

Imagine and weave stories of horror.

As I lie there, the rooms close in,

One more nail on the coffin of my sleep,

Once again I welcome the drowsy Sun.

As I embrace the warmth and the shine,

One another time I feel defeated,

Under the spinning wheel, crushed, mauled.

The yellow glow!

~ Soumya ~ 3 Comments

She turned to his side of the bed. The spread was wrinkled and still had his warmth. She rolled over, awake the rest of the night. When did he leave? Did he say anything? She couldn’t think straight, still caught in the unfulfilling sleep. Wasn’t it obvious he’d leave anyway! But somehow, she wished otherwise. It has been a tough time thru this. And she couldn’t handle it anymore. The yellow light shimmered.

She loved the light. The yellow light. The dim flickering filament bulb. And the yellow glow. The best part, as she saw it, was that, when you shut your eyes close, the light just stays off. It doesn’t penetrate thru eyelids and poke your retina to acknowledge its presence. Unlike what the fluoroscent tubelights do to your eyes. And when you open your eyes, it still stays there, causing no difficulty to your eyes, adjusting to the brightness. The yellow light shimmered.

When was the last time she had the yellow light? Was it way back at home? The only apartment her parents rented was so dimly lit. She could recollect faint glimpses from there. Everything had a yellowish hue. The glow of the yellow light. And the yellow flame of the candles during the ‘power-cut’ hours! Again. The yellow light shimmered.
She never liked the yellow frock her parents got her. The only one they bought together. She despised the pineapple jam coz it was yellow in colour. She adjusted with the mixed fruit. She didn’t like yellow coz her aunt died of jaundice, all yellow and pale. She didn’t like the sun, coz it was yellow and hurt her eyes. She loved the moon. Is that how she turned into this night person? But at all times, she loved the yellow glow and the filament bulbs. The yellow light shimmered.

What did he wear last night? Was it a yellow shirt? And the same yellow pants? She doesn’t remember. It needn’t matter anymore coz the night is over now. The yellow sun had risen up. But it still bothers her. Did he actually wear those yellow things for her? The yellow sun disturbed. She pulled the blanket over her head and went back to the slumber. The yellow light shimmered.

The yellow sun gave up and the moon came back, welcoming the yellow glow. The bulb was turned on, once again. The yellow glow spread all over. The room had the yellow charm back. And she silently sneaked out of the blanket. He was at the door. Wasn’t he better looking than the guy from yesterday? Rather, wasn’t he the most good-looking, of all the men who stood at that door? She was mesmerised by his glow. And she let her hands open in a huge embrace to welcome him into the bed. Before he could move, she let her hands go asked him to leave. His head hung in apprehension, he turned away and walked in silence. He didn’t wear yellow. His glow wasn’t yellow. She wanted yellow. She embraced only yellow. She kissed only yellow. She could please only yellow. She loved yellow, perhaps. The yellow light shimmered.

She closed her eyes, taking on last glimpse of the yellow glow, before she drifted back to her sleep. The yellow light glowed even brighter, noticing her looking at it. What colour would be the blush of the yellow light, you may ask her. And she’d say, what you see as flickering, that one moment of fading away, is my yellow glow blushing at my gaze! The yellow glow beamed. And she slid under her cover. The yellow light shimmered. And flickered. And faded. And was putoff.

She wakes up into the new red glow. She fits back into the routine. But this time, she doesn’t filter out the non-yellow-outfit men. All are welcome. All are accepted. The room no longer glowed in yellow. The charm was lost and the glow was stolen. The yellow absence filled the room. And her soul. She hates light. She is in love with black. Her face no longer seen in the dark. The glow disapperead into the abyss. And, the red light flickered at the door. Not blushing, but annihilating. The red light doesn’t shimmer.

Limbo!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

So now, Rekha akka, I officially lost the challenege. I didn’t write yesterday. Did I forget? Or did I run out of things to write? Well, in reality, I just slept it off. Like, 24 hours are really not sufficient for anything. Lately, I have been losing a lot of time in ways I can’t even identify. And lately, I am not being myself. I am suffocated with words brewing in my mind. And blogging everyday is really not sufficient expression of it. Words are enough to express, only, time isn’t ever. Lost here, with a deluge of words in my head, I can’t explain myself.

This morning, I was shook from sleep by something and the first thought was to confirm if I had blogged yesternight before dozing off. But I hadn’t done anything more than the title “Happily ever after!”. I always wanted to write,but always had excuses to run away from the actual act of it, with trivial justifications. I was of the hope that atleast a challenge of this kind would cheer me enough. An article for a major magazine, or so I persume, is due tomorrow and I haven’t even begun with it. And for the record, the deadline was a month ago, and by some luck, I just got it extended. As if even those magazine people were keen on publishing what I might write! And, I don’t write at all. My college magazine is on the go and I haven’t done anything there either. I have an essay competition today. What miracle am I expecting to happen in that constrained one hour and thirty minutes!

I don’t want to be here, caught in limbo. I don’t want to experience this block in the flow. May be, me writing or not writing doesn’t change anything in this big world. But, there was a time when it changed a lot of things in my little world, filled with satisfaction of having expressed myself! I am waiting to be once again back there. Waiting to be kicked out of this limbo!

Unwinding!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

If only if I could just skip this writing or unwinding of the day! I am near a black out of my senses. Too tired. Too much pressure. Too sleepy. Exhausting but exciting days are on their go in my life. And at the end of every such day, I just wanna hit the bed and black out. I don’t wanna think about anything. Not about what happened the whole day. Not the least bit about writing. Just shut the eyelids tight and usher sleep in!

This has always been an irony in my life. As in many others’. I so much want to write. About my life at this precise moment. There’s really so much to write about. To be proud, to be happy, to be sad, to vent, to simply share. But now when life’s so eventful, I don’t have time. Not even to acknowledge the awesome turns in my life, let alone write it down. But the craving to atleast scribble something is pushing me enough to post this. Well, everybody’s life’s so and so I know there’s nothing to boast about it. But I just had to say it out anyway.

The irony still intrigues me. Almost a year before, my days still used to end up in a black out when I used to forcefully exert so much pressure on myself and push me to exhaustion. And back then, I used to support and justify my ‘not writing’, with this same very reason of the end of the day black out! Things pretty much remain the same except for that, now I don’t look out for blacking out! Writing is always at stake and so is my passion!

Drunk!

~ Soumya ~ 1 Comment

Drunk and drive is dangerous. Nobody ever mentioned anything about drunk and write. Perhaps, it’s not as dangerous as the other. Or may be, people never get drunk to write but to stop worrying about such crap in life. So may be, nobody actually mix drinking and writing. W not equal to D. T not equal to V. Implies, writing is never equal to driving. Does these imply that I’m drunk? May be I’m drunk. May be I’m not. Does my intoxication matter anymore? I’ve already lectured on it anyway.

You feel light headed. You dont find answers when you drink. But you forget the questions. (quoting you know who! I know too. Dont think I’m trying to hide my ignorance. I know Vijay Malya said that. You didnt know, did you? I’d still use “you know who” coz that sounds cool to me!) Your tongue gives you away first. You might end up puking. (vaal vekkukka) You might even lose control over your emotions and break down and confide in someone. This is what I usually hear as an aftermath of drinking. Drinking alcohol, to make it specific. Drinking milk or water doesn’t do it. My first hand experience!

I dont feel intoxicated. I dont feel high. But at 0230 IST, I’m supposed to be all that. I’m just normal. But I’m feeling ecstatic. Doesn’t that mean something? Yeah, it means I’m normal. My questions aren’t vanishing. I dont forget anything. I dont feel any difference in the weight of my head. I certainly dont think I’m on an emotional break. I feel pleased. Relaxed. Like, there’s no more to worry about. No more to cry upon. No more to yearn for. I feel like… Ah I feel sleep now. Kissing on my eyes. Coaxing me, to make out with me. I should just sleep. Calm and quite. Yet abysmal and chaotic. The perfect sleep!

Intoxication!

~ Soumya ~ 4 Comments

The just before sleep time. That’s an awesomely risky timing for communication with people. The beginning of disorientation. The twist in thoughts and world view. The guts to sing aloud. The will to ring up someone and proclaim the love. The desperation to slap someone with the ugly truth and punch them right on their face. The inch to confess all your live’s mistakes. The urge to talk someone into crazy stuff, and ending up in ridiculous states all by oneself. Think out the most impractical way to solve the most pressing issue in head. And later discover that the whole relief of solution before sleep was just so fake. The imagination to foresee a possible dream and wake up from the daze to shun the thought away. Everything just comes your way naturally. Everything just seems so practical to me. The height of intoxication, if you ask me. You feel drunk and high, and light enough to go to any heights of life, and yet land so smooth.

I’ve been through it. Multiple times. With multiple people. With multiple incidents. And everything turned so disasterous but I just never learn. I’ve managed more fiascos than what anyone can imagine, with my intoxicated communications. I blurt out stuff. I sing aloud. I abuse. I cry. I laugh. I just bring out the broken loose me, from the inside and create mess. The mess just turned out so risky as I have become so thoughtless and indiscreet with my words and thoughts. I ended up talking totally impossible stuff to a friend recently. I abused another with all my heart. I talked someone out of misery. And the last thing I did was something like, just rewind some important life events with my cousin. And guess what I got! (Or rather caught!) I caught her attempting to record my intoxicated ramblings! She was ‘just’ attempting, thank god! 😀 (below is an image of her stupid phone which got stuck as she tried to record my words. Even the phone couldn’t handle it. Lol.)

But then. I’m not yet planning to stop this. The night communication might be risky. But it feels genuine. The next morning, what I feel is not my exposed fragility. I feel good. Just plainly good that I was true and real. A genuine lightness settles down with it’s weight on my head. Most my blog posts are the just-before-sleep type. Now you know! 🙂

Nightmares.

~ Soumya ~ 2 Comments

Some dream. Some dont. Some good. Some bad. Nightmares. People scream out in fear and wake up gasping for breath.Struggling to come out of what they saw in the dream, reassuring it to be just a nightmare. That’s all common. Very common that almost all of us have had unforgettable experiences with nightmares. I’m not claiming it’s different with me. But yet it is. I have never screamed or even woken up. That’s not much strange. But this fact that, everyday, I’m having the same strange gripping fear as I go to bed, and the very same fear coming true in my nightmares, and waking up exhausted beyond measure. That is strange. Strange enough to be considered so.

I dont know how to describe what I see. It’s hard. It’s private. And it’s complicated. The same repetitive thought that’s pushed down into the subconscious that resurrects in my sleep. I dont know if that’s the right way of defining nightmares. But that’s how the case is with me. I just dont want it again. And if I writing it down like this helps,I’d be the most glad.

I dream often. Strange and scary. I once dreamt. I was walking. Slow and steady. Gradually growing up in pace, as if I’d acceleration under my foot. And at some point, I was losing control over my acceleration. The road was suddenly inclined. And I was now speeding downhill. Unable to stop. Without brakes. High on acceleration. And the obvious wasn’t much far. I trip and fall. I hurt myself beyond repair. The dream end there. And I continue to sleep unaffected, only to find myself afraid to walk fast ever since, for a long time from then. I hope none of my readers are dream interpreters. Please dont look into me, so fierce and sharp. 🙂

The swing!

~ Soumya ~ 2 Comments

I aint a child anymore. I very well get that. But then, as in everyone’s life, there could be something in mine too, that can bring out a bit of a child in me. It kinda contradicts my own theory that I never felt child enough. Life was always very pragmatic and rational to me. Excuse the past tense. It still is so and will as well continue so. Eventually, I reckon that my losses are something that I lost in the mad rush of articulations. Knowing it to myself, that none was intentional, I assume I can live through the losses. Ironically, despite the whole missing of sweet naughty memories, I do have occasional reminiscences. Of a past that I never had.

My nostalgia and longing have always been mocked upon. I dont blame anyone. Nor am I particularly sad about being laughed at. I honestly understand that all of them have a point. For my nostalgia is ridiculously dwelling on a past that I never had. It’s difficult to fathom and empathise with me. Very so often, I fail at that all by myself. My birth and raising up was completely in a city, that’s continuously pacing to the “Metro” status. My life is pivoted around the city and the normal urban middle class scale. But every time I visit my dad’s native, something changes in me. From my very first visit till the current one,(typing from the very same home’s sit out), I have increasingly fallen for this place and the old ancestral home.I connect perfectly to the village, the temple nearby, the temple pond, the home itself, the extended backyard, the cramped bathroom, the dimly litambiance, the ear-bursting loudspeakers. Not to forget the dusty attic and the rickety ‘monuments’ and the ‘priceless treasure’ that I dig out of them, in every single visit.

I wish I could write more and relate my existence to something worth the survival. But instinctively, I believe that somethings are better unsaid. The aura that this place radiates, is amazing.I am spellbound by it’s charm. I am surprise how I am urged to write about one particular thing. The swing of my life. The only one that I truly admired for its rhythmic oscillations. As I sit on it and rock myself, it feels like the entire world is striving to do away with my sleeplessness and cradle me into a peaceful sound sleep. My swing!

For the first time, there was actually a choice to not rock myself. Somebody else did it for me. I am glad. Blissful.

Update : I guess the reference to the swing was very vague. But have a close look at the image just above this. Its an open gate with another opened gate within it. That’s where I sit and rock! 😛

Early morning dream

~ Soumya ~ 2 Comments

My mom is constantly worried ever since I told her about my blog. After seeing it for herself, she’s not yet confident that I can make sense in my writings. She assumes I’m nuts and I might blabber around things that I shouldn’t be talking about. My assurances about my readers aint soothing her. Paavam amma! But then, I think she’s a point. So I’ve come to the point of not letting her read my blog. But instead, just tell her what I write. So then, I can conveniently decide what to say and what not to say. This probably is one such post that I wouldn’t let her know.

Came home after a strenuous journey yesterday night. Was tired and slept pretty soon (after the night’s post obviously). Somewhere in the middle of the night, I woke up and there was no returning to sleep. Thought about the unthinkable. Expected the unexpected. Craved for the impossible. Yearned for some sleep. Finally, slept by around six in the morning. But now I wish I hadn’t gotten sleep at all. Do early morning dreams actually come real? I was talking to someone in the same room that I slept yesterday night. Suddenly the conversation turned wild and I went out of my mind. Next thing I see is the person screaming in agony and my left wrist bleeding and right hand clutching to a blade. I saw my hands for a second more in the mirror and then my dad knocked the door. The dream ended there. But the knocking didn’t stop. My dad was actually knocking at the door. I took out my phone to see the time and it was six thirty or so. I was not sweating in shock. But I’m kinda disturbed. Why would I dream of suicide? I dont have such ideas. But then, why did I dream of dying? Rather, killing myself. Do early morning dreams turn real? Hope not. 🙂

The revelation!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

Fears aint numbered. Huge in number and immense in impact. I wish if I could count mine. My fears have never ended by any of my lamenting. Everytime I lament, I wish that’s the last time I cry about my fears. I guess my fear is afraid of me, to abandon me and face my wrath. Lol. Fear all around. Life is so frightening to me now. What happened to the bold courageous me? Well, who said I ever was one! People make mistakes. People misunderstand. 🙂

But then, personally I never knew I was so much of a scardy cat. Afraid to move. Afraid not to move. Afraid to talk. Afraid to be silent. Afraid to sleep. Afraid to stay up. Afraid to help. Afraid to not help. Lol. This sounds like Kamal in Thenali? Reality is not much far from that. ‘Ellam sivamaya enparkal. Aanal enakku ellam bhayamayam!’

The latest added to the list is…ah stop there. Just as I typed this, I got a notice from a group of women. “Soumyanjali”. (Respect to Soumya, mourning her death) The recent controversial tragedy of a girl Soumya, brutally raped and killed in train. So does that count to be my fear too? That somebody is following me, day in and day out. It has been there for somedays, resurfacing often.

Back to where I stopped before reading the notice. My latest fearlist member; sleeping in an air conditioned room. That sounds ridiculous. Even to myself. But then, yesterday, after long I slept in an AC room and I was shivering of the fear and not of the cold. May be its the eerie silence. Or may be the buzz of the AC. May be its the presence of the chill. Or may be its simply the absence of my favourite rickety fan and the soothing lullaby it sings for me. I cant sleep without the fan.

More than the presence of something, its the absence of that thing that frightens me. I had typed this sentence once. But connection failed and I lost all that I typed. Cant type again. I’m afraid to lose again.