The reverie

The voices grew louder and louder. There were no gaps now. Spaces belonged to the soul. Mind knew neither stillness nor love. It churned out thoughts by the gazillion. The pauses were subatomic. Mind could not delve into such microscopic depths. The background of bliss was beyond detection. Fashioned from thoughts, there was the mirage of a continuous inner self. Such precious delusion that has enamoured every human! She couldn’t flee from its grip either. She eased into its familiar form. Every nook and crevice of it was comforting. Even the suffering was addictive. There was no escape from its inevitability. Millions had stumbled and fallen into the same abyss. Very few had awakened from its captivating reverie. The ones who did tried in vain to save the rest. But their efforts were met with disdain, even pure hostility. Some were crucified. Others wandered the earth and were condemned as ‘loonies.’ The virtual reality had spun its tentacles and its fascinating stories with such complexity that the web of deceit was now beyond escape. There were occasional flashes of sanity. These went unnoticed. Yet it did offer some reprieve from the unending pain of separation. Unity was a shell now cast upon the shore of life, an archaic relic that everyone shunned. To each, their own was the mantra on everyone’s lips. To compete, to divide, to fear, to control – these were the patterns that drove the dreamers. The awakened ones talked of the power of now. But dreamers shuttled from past to future and had no bearing on the present. Hooked to a constant feed of worries and anxieties, past pains and troubles, they meandered on in a haze. Thoughts and responses were now in a loop. None noticed the repetitive nature of it. Nor the preciousness of the moment. The awakened ones held their presence. Like lightening rods trying to save a collective burnout. But the voices were unrelenting. And the dreamers were hooked. Once in a while the suffering was so searing that someone woke up. As the momentum of the madness hastened, so did the frequency of those who sought to flee from its grip. These new ones would people the new earth. She however would be left behind. Because she caved in to the temptation of the abyss. She could not let go of the mirage. There were ample warnings. Her daughter was the first. But she did not heed. Now there would be no more opportunities for a while. For an eternity, she would abide in the darkness.

Tides

Millions of butterflies soared gently in the twilight of her mind. Relentless movement. Swish and swoosh. Warm, comforting. Unlike the people around her. Cold, distant. They too moved around swiftly. There was no pause. Stillness was her own. Frozen in her wheelchair as the world flowed by in undue haste. People were caught up in the web of doing. This to finish, that to plan. No time to just be. She had ample time. But her mind was just as busy. There was no rest there. Neither peace nor clarity. How could one exist without the other? Cute little babies, giggling while swinging to and fro. Then the darkness descended. She was drowning in it. She struggled to move her fingers. The mind and body were disconnected. There was no cord to pull her back into the realm of the living. She willed with every inch of her being. A small flutter of the little finger. This was precious. She was making contact. Words of euphoria waited impatiently to spill out of her mind into the vibrations of sounds. But they never escaped the prison of her vocal cords stiffened by Parkinson’s. A familiar figure appeared in the periphery. “Syndopa,” he whispered. This was the elixir of motion that this angel had come to administer. She opened her mouth and gulped the pill down. Redemption was near. For a while her fingers and feet would find their way out of their fetters. Desires could be voiced. Attention demanded. Her soul could manifest its authentic colours and paint heartily a vibrant picture in the world of people and doing. She could be heard. She could stir another’s heart and mind. Her thirst for life was indomitable. She was not willing to recede into the void. She could still make waves in the pool of life and land of the living. But one day, the elixir would cease to enervate her. One day, the waters of her life would become still forever. She wouldn’t think about that now. Not yet.

The sounds of Christmas

Shalu’s journey into the realm of fantasy was cut short by a loud crash. Her husband was already awake and inching towards the bedroom door. She struggled to gauge the time as her eyes adjusted slowly to the lit room.

“It could be a thief!” she muttered dubiously. “Don’t go Ram. It does not matter if he takes something. Don’t be a fool and hurt yourself,” she pleaded with him now.

She gathered the pink overcoat of her mauve negligée and was well on her way to the door herself. As Ram turned around in alarm, she caught hold of his right arm and sought safety in the sanctity of his embrace.

With a well-toned body that betrayed no fear, Ram was in no mood to listen. He pushed her away gently back into the bed reassuring her with an affectionate peck and thundered out into the hall. There in the middle of the spacious lounge lay a silver bauble that glittered invitingly.

Ram switched on the lights hurriedly. As his eyes swept the length and breadth of the room for signs of an incursion, a cold draft rumbled past him. It seemed to emanate from the trinket on the floor.

He picked it up and as if by instinct held it to his ears. He remembered the Christmas decorations that Janet, his neighbour’s 4-year-old, had brought to show him. There were tiny bells on its periphery that chimed softly.

“But that was last year and this Christmas they cannot afford anything,” he thought somberly. “How did this get here? And what was that sound?”

Suddenly the room grew dark. “Oh the blasted fuse has tripped again!” he grumbled furiously.

The trinket now illuminated the beige walls and cast exquisite patterns on the black leather sofa. He smiled when he remembered the pure happiness on Janet’s face as she had displayed the ornaments and laughed with abandon. Then sadness crept into his heart as he remembered that this Christmas Janet would know no such joy.

He could still hear her prattle and as the knick-knack chimed on, a warm feeling enveloped his soul. The fetters that had held his heart hostage fell away one by one and it dawned on him, “These are the sounds of Christmas!”

The next day a box of Christmas decorations was delivered to Janet’s front porch.