Insomnia A Love Tale

"Beep" that’s my message tone. Its 3 am. One of dearest friend has replied to my msg. Why did I message him at 3 am, because I am unable to get any sleep. Luckily my friend replies to my message.

Next night its 2 am. I forward yesterday's same message once more "Asleep?".And send it to my friends. This time my phone doesn't beep and silence prevails.It’s been two days and I have not been able get any kind of sleep. I have tired dozens for things so that I will be able to sleep, read book, meditate, watch television, count numbers to name few however nothing has helped. Doctor said there is nothing wrong with me and I just need so relax my mind made no sense to me. He further added in fact the more hard I try to sleep more sleep will run far away from me said the doctor.

Seven am next morning, “ding dong” that’s my door bell just has I am about to get some sleep it woke me up. It’s the milk man. I call in office to say I won’t be coming today. I head back towards my bed trying to get much needed sleep. However sleep is gone far away.What started some sleepless hours now has turned into days into weeks. It’s been a three weeks a since I have not been able to sleep. This means my body has not rested for nearly 500 hours. And as I do some soul searching I am finding it difficult not only to sleep but also to do my daily activity there is lack of energy.

While doing some research of sleep deprivation I come across an article, “Insomnia a love Tale”. In which the author suggested that many people who are unable to sleep/ sleep deprived suffer form this disease because they don’t like the night life. The author also suggested that if you want to sleep then embrace the night. Embrace its beauty embrace its silence.

So after trying like dozen of dozen of things I decided to try what author “Insomnia a love tale” had suggested. I decided to embrace night life. So that night I dint try to sleep I just gave up I took a walk in my building compound around 2 am made some coffee. Tranquility prevailed. There was something about the eerie silence that compelled me. May be an occasional sound here and there and a periodic ticking of time but nonetheless it was serene. The world lays in deep slumber with shadows guarding the moon and all that is hidden under it. I hope this moment does not pass because I am at peace. I don't want to attract attention. I am me. Enjoying this night. Loving the silence. Why didn't I ever hear it before? Maybe I was trying too hard to sleep. The noise in my head just didn't allow me to hear the song the night was singing. I thought how about reading something?? Hmm what do I read?? I went to my book shelf and picked a copy of Geetanjali my favorite poems .I started to browse poems I had read umpteen times...Somehow those poems seemed new to me... Why??  I didn't try to search for any answers I just wanted to live in that moment wanting to revere those poems. And that is what I did. 

And then next morning I slept. With a smile of my face, behind wonderfully memories of last night.

One Happy Cloud

It was another beautiful day and just like always he was smiling broadly. Sun rays falling on him made him look more pleasant than ever. All newspaper’s had his photo flashed on their front page.  On lookers would smile at him and he would love to smile back at them. Some called him photographers delight. Seven was the most beautiful cloud one would ever get to see. Some even rumored that seven had magical powers one look at seven and all your wishes would come true. Seven had managed to always bring a smile on peoples face. Soon the word spread about Seven and people from everywhere came to see him. Photographers traveled form far to take a snap of him.

However one day Seven disappeared from sky all of a sudden.  Shortly after the disappearance of Seven another cloud named Punch was seen in the sky. People where happy to see this new could he was larger more beautiful had a very enticing smile. Talks about Punch also spread across the city, people came from all over to see him and take picture of him.

People had forgotten about Seven. But questions remained as to where seven was gone.  Only if people had keenly observed they would have been able to see Seven as well. Seven was not gone anywhere he was there, it was Punch who had managed to grab attention of people with his flamboyance. Seven of course was not happy with all the due attention that Punch was getting. Seven’s friend suggested him to do something about Punch. But Seven ignored them. Seven though had his own rationales Seven did not want to fight with Punch. Seven was happy just being a cloud and all he wanted to do was bring a smile on people’s face rest didn’t matter to him. He simply said that, “I don’t want to be part of this cat race it’s not worth to lose your peace and gain something”.

All of sudden there was chaos up in the sky cloud Punch was now challenged by a new cloud Tornado .Tornado  was a rebel ambitious cloud just like Punch and both wanted to be in limelight. They fought a ferocious battle; people from the earth were confused to what was going in the sky. Many feared the end was near and mother earth would no longer exist on the map of universe. Soon the news reached a senior cloud that was responsible for the management of clouds. Both Punch and Tornado were summoned and both were sent to  desolated places where there was no one to appreciate their beauty. With both Tornado and Punch being sent far. One cloud who was hiding form everyone’s eye was still there smiling and trying to spread happiness. Yes he too had a reason to be happy now.

The Ride Continues

With the spark she always had, she stood there, she stood there  looking at the mess all around. 

She was spared probably because she wasn’t as good looking as them.Flames, stone pelting, fire broken windows; burnt tires were all around her.  People were shouting slogans. The goon had entered the building and set all vehicles a fire. Then they close in on her as well. However they decided to spare her.  They probably found no value in her.  She stood there as the sole witness to her friends being burnt. Roy’s bike, Tantra’s scooterette, Tuffy’s bullet were in ashes. She just felt her limbs were cut off and the goons had rendered her handicapped. She looked at the empty spot where Roy’s bike used to be parked. Monsoon or summer, day or night both of them had always stood together.

If she could move, she would have jumped into the flames too. But she didn’t want to live Pie. Pie never treated her like a cycle but regarded her as a friend. Pie and she shared a relation beyond any one’s understanding.  He used to ride her for miles and spoke endlessly with her. If Pie had a rough day, he would take her for long rides to refresh himself .He shared secrets that even his best friend Roy was unaware of .He preferred her to any bike or car. Whenever curious onlookers gave him a meaningless glance too, it encouraged him to ride her more with his head held high.

As she watched everything get destroyed, her heart skipped a beat. Pie had gone to college she feared for his safety. She mumbled a prayer. Simultaneously she cursed the youngster for posting those insulting remarks about   the political leader and cursed his party even more for the ruckus they created in retaliation. Not only things were damaged but young college goers were beaten too. Anyways democracy and freedom of speech always were a sham in our country.

However, amidst all this worldly hypocrisy, Pie and his cycle shared an extremely unadulterated equation. Two days had passed the incident but Pie’s cycle stood there all alone. She had not seen Pie at all and found it strange that he hadn’t bothered to meet her even once. Questions haunted her.

Pie stood in his balcony wanting to talk to her. But he was deeply hurt inside that he would never be able to ride her. Pie had lost one of his legs in the riot. This story ends without an ending perhaps.  Soon after riots Pie shifted in bigger house and reserved a corner for his favorite cycle. So there stands his best friend with whom Pie continues to share his secrets like old times.

A convict's broken dream

If anyone decided to script a movie on my life it would be one of those typical Bollywood flicks. Love, broken dreams, betrayal, murder, gun chases with a lot of melodrama…

I am being interviewed by a journalist and some his questions disturb me. Like “What would I do after I am set free?” It’s  been almost  a decade that I am in jail- away from guns, away from fights, away from the world of hide and seek, and more importantly away from the world of death. I reply “Haven’t decided yet”.  Another   question that my friends and those close to me have asked, “How does it feel to be constantly followed by the shadow of death?” In monotonous tone, I say, “I am not afraid of death and never will be.” The interview ends and I go back to my cell.

Its past 3 am, but my eyes still wide are open. ‘Am I not afraid of death?’ The question haunts me and also brings back memories of my jobless days, when I had seven mouths to feed. Education was an unfulfilled dream. No one was willing to employ me until a man asked me to appear for the interview for the post of a peon in a local bank.  I cleared the interview and the pay was descent. That is when I learnt  life’s biggest lesson that either you screw up things for others or you get screwed up. Roy was my first victim. Why did I kill him? He had bribed the branch manager to get the job that belonged to me I was informed.

My hands were as stable and I was a mere 2 feet away from Roy. I pressed the trigger and shot two bullets into his head. From then on I was on the run. I have no regrets for killing that bastard and never will have. I’m not scared of death

I’m not scared of death. When I look around I see death everywhere. I see death in each and every individual who is alive. I died many years ago when my job was taken away. Here, I am speaking of death not in the physical sense. It’s when young souls kill their dreams, stop believing  like ‘miracles’ and quit fighting for what they thought is theirs.

When we think our dreams are too childish and don’t hold any insignificant slowly our dead dreams start killing us from within. With the burden of our unfulfilled dreams, it becomes laborious to live with peace in our heart. So, find a dream and achieve it.

Bloodless 2

We called him Lin. It was Lin who insisted that we call him Lin. Lin, based on his favorite book character. Lin had called me to meet him today. I have known Lin since he was six. Whenever Lin had called me it was some matter of importance. Lin was looking distressed. He said, “I have not been able to sleep for the past week. All I do is, just lie down and stare at the ceiling. And whenever I try to sleep Cold Fish’s memory haunts me. The day I returned from Cold-Fish’s funeral I dreamt about Cold –Fish. He was staring at me from the mirror. I couldn’t sleep that night.”

That was the last, I had spoken to Lin. But then things started to worsen for Lin. He was no more attending college. He had cut off himself from his family and friends. It had been over a month he had locked himself in his room. I was worried as I didn’t know how long it was going to last. What made it harder was Lin too was staying away from his family.

However suddenly things had changed for Lin. He started to attend college with more enthusiasm .But I knew there was something wrong. I had asked Lin what had changed, was he over Cold-Fish’s death but he managed to avoided the topic every time I bought it up. I was worried that Lin might be consuming drugs but it was unlikely as he didn’t have that kind of money. So then what made Lin change.  I was curious to find out.

Lin hadn’t called me to his place for a month. People, who knew me and Lin, would know that, if we both were to find, we would be at Lin’s place. So I decided to give him a surprise visit. I knew Cold-Fish’s chapter was not going to be closed so easily. Especially for Lin.  All my questions were answered. I found that Lin had started to follow the path of Cold-Fish. He too had started drinking his own blood. There was blood everywhere as I entered the room. Meanwhile Lin had passed out. After he regained consciousness I asked Lin the same question he had posed to Cold Fish, “As to why he hurt himself?” Unlike Cold –fish, Lin said “It gives me sense of power and control.  Also when I cut myself the pain makes me feel alive. And once you experience pain like this there is no problem which looks big. Blood has become my drug.” Lin said.

I had my own fears after fine day was my last session with my psychiatrist .Who am I? I am Cold-Fish also known as Lin. D out that Lin was following the same footsteps of Cold-Fish. And Lin too will end life the way Cold Fish did. I didn’t want Lin to waste his life just like Cold- Fish did. So after speaking to a psychiatrist and explain all the symptoms of Cold-Fish and Lin. Lin was suffering from disease called Clinical Vampirism or  Renfield's syndrome. It’s a rare psychiatric disorder in which the sufferer feels a compulsion to consume blood. Its consumption can stimulate a sense of power and control. As Lin had said, “it gives me sense of power and control”. The disorder has never been included in the DSM-IV and is very much treatable. Renfield’s Syndrome is classified as schizophrenia or paraphilia. 

It was after a lot of convincing that Lin agreed to see a psychiatrist. Today was my last session with my psychiatrist. I am Cold-Fish, also known as Lin. 

BLOODLESS...

We all were standing and having discussion about India’s debacle performance in Australia and then I heard the roar of his Apache 180 rt.  I immediately knew it was him. He was as always late for the class. Shortly after his arrival I started to feel restless causing my attention to divert. He went to have a smoke, again he was alone. No one ever spoke him, no one ever hanged out with him.  He was one of the most detached guys in fact I doubt if any one even knew his name. Sometimes we saw him taking first semester class, other times he took second semester classes. We gave him a name he was cold-fish. Cold-fish one devoid of all human emotion or feeling. Many people had tried to speak him but all in vain.

Today also my eyes kept searching for him but he was not to be found. It was almost a month, he had disappeared from college. No one knew where he was no one had his number to text or call him. No one knew where he lived. Where was bloodless? No one knew.

Then one day returning from college I saw him having a smoke. As always his only company was his bike. I decided to stop and have a casual conversation with him. I tried to get him to talk up by asking various question. However in cold tone he dismissed them by answering in not more than 3 words. While talking I noticed something unusual  this guy had various razor cuts on his hands. I thought maybe his girlfriend had left him so he had tried to commit suicide. However looking at the number of cuts he had on his hand that made no sense.  20 to 30 wounds of different shapes at different places spread all over his hand. I asked him how he had managed to injure his hands so many times. Cold-fish guy who never spoke more than three words started to speak in the most animated manner.  He took me to his room. Cold-fish lived alone. The question that still haunted me was how he could injure his hands so many times. Then came the shocker of my life, Cold-Fish did something horrific he took a knife and cut his hand. Then he drained as much blood as he could in glass. What I saw after that made the scene was even worse; he gulped the whole glass of blood that too within no time. I was scared as I watched all this I wanted to run away but fear had griped me. Soon bloodless started screaming in pain I had no clue what to do should I call police call doctor. I stayed with him till he was fine. After everything got back to normal he turned to me and apologized. I asked him why he did that to himself. He had no answer all he said, “I am addicted to blood and that is why I don’t make any friends and stay as much away as I can from people.”

Soon after my encounter with bloodless I informed college people about this blood sucking vampire. They called his parents and soon he was sent to an asylum. Eight days after been admitted to asylum Cold-Fish committed suicide.  When I came from his funeral and took a close look in mirror I saw him again in dark. To be continued …

Based on narration by Goks Nair 

The Other Love Story

“Happy anniversary dear,”  Pie says.

“Same to you dear does not seem like  we have met 75 years ago. Anyway, let’s rest. We have a big day tomorrow,” Amulaya says. 

Next day.

“Click click click click I’m tired. Never imagined that so many people might come,” Amulaya says.

“Well  what can I say? Agastya and Kshirin  have left their legacy in the history books of India,” Pie  says with great  pride in his voice.

70 years back

Pie’s story 

It was  in 1934  that Agastya met Krishni,a  young  the then parliament member, had his first

Krishni a young prominent TV personality and a social worker who was going to interview him about his entry into politics .The moment he  saw Krishni, he knew this is the girl for him . Over a period of month or so Krishni and Agastya became good friends. But few months later Krishni got a promotion and was transferred to Delhi. And that’s when Agastya decided to use me his conveyor. I was sexy, stylish and had a great sense of humor. I also had my special place my velvet box. I was a free bird then but something was lacking in life. I felt lonely at times because I was kept in a closed box, always. I hardly had any friends. I was even hardly needed except for  special occasions  . I’m Pie, the pen.

Amulaya’s  Story.

 Why do they complain so much? I have tried explaining them that it’s your fate and we cannot do anything about it. But still they will constantly complain.  How I wish I was locked in some drawer where only silence would prevail. I wish! Someday even I would have ink spilled all over me. All I hope is that it won’t be as torturing as they made it out to be.  What is it with Agastya? Why is he using so may many papers nowadays? I guess he must be using them to write to Krishni. Love makes people do weird things.. And soon I too will land in Krishni’s hand. Can’t wait for that moment.  I’m Amulaya the paper.

The Chance Meeting 

“I know I have to be strong I know its going to hurt a little but its fine,” Amulaya, just takes a deep breath and let it go.

“Opps ” screamed out Amulaya.

“Am sorry am so sorry if I hurt you,” Pie apologised.

That’s how  Pie the pen, and Amulaya the paper met .

“No no it’s just that you are tickling me,”Amulaya says

“No, I am different and that’s why I am special”, reverted Pie.

Ok great to meet you…

“They call me Pie,”brags Pie 

“I am Amulaya,” Amylaya says

 “What’s so special about you Pie?”

“I am kinder than others and more awesome than others,” Pie says flirtatiously.  

“Ok ok I get it.”

“Tell me about yourself,”  Pie asks. 

 “Well unlike you, I’m quite boring, I usually don’t talk much… oh what’s happening? Why are we being locked? I don’t what to be locked?,”

“I don’t know either but I think, we might have to spend the night with each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“Arrey  dumb! Can’t you feel the darkness and the silence? I think Agastya has retired for the day.”

“You mean both of us have to spend night together?”  Amulaya sounds irritated.

So we have no other option. Amulaya and Pie spent the night together only to realize that they were quite different in nature other but yet they were are quite similar too. And that one night changed their life’s as they found each other they found their love in each other. However fate played a little twist with Amulaya being sent to Krishhi. They knew that they could never meet each other. It was late 1975 when Agastya and Krishni, the most loved souls of India were separated but not before leaving their legacy behind. As a tribute to their love a museum is built. Which includes love letters, through which Agastya had professed his love and desire to marry Krishni. Thus through one love story emerges another one…both of being for eternity.