Posts Tagged ‘dreams’

deadlines in my head image

Every second I am out of it. I feel like I am running out of time. That cliched image of me clinching sand as it slides past my palm paints the canvas in my head. I have created these little deadlines unknowingly, and I have started believing in them, that if I don’t hold myself true to what I believe, I don’t know what might happen.

It’s like one fine day I ended up becoming conscious of my limited time in the world. I became conscious of the fact that if I don’t make all my dreams come true in my fixed slot, I might end up feeling sorry for leading a torpid life. Every second I waste makes me feel time spent doing something not fruitful. A day bygone in self-pity seems like a day wasted.

I am constantly running. My feet are all scathed. I am charging through my blisters through all that pain, and yet the thought of stopping to rest, to relax, seems like a wasted breath. There are so many things to do, so many dreams to carve, so many shots to take and so many trials to experience, but every inch I move, I inch closer to something volatile. I can’t seem to hit anything solid. It’s as if the whole universe is plotting against me, testing me, my unwavering patience to simmer me in its deadpan humour.

Then at times I feel terribly drained out. Knackered. I don’t want to do anything but sit amongst my thoughts. Watch sitcoms, eat a pizza, sleep, get fat. That’s when a passed deadline would look right back at me; it would rue me with eyes of guilt forcing me to feel ashamed of myself. I would feel slumped in my race to beat time. I would feel horrible then as if a day had just ended up swallowing me, and that I had failed miserably to churn out a planned thing.

I guess it is okay to miss on it. It’s okay to give yourself the luxury of taking it easy.

I remind myself every day:

It’s not the end of the world. You can stop to check those blisters every once in a while. Deadlines procrastinate. Just stop and breathe. It’s okay to not do anything. Sometimes a day doesn’t have to be your day.

That’s when I stop and wallow in my indolence. I let go. Then……..I live.

Advertisements
image of a bald guy talking to a girl

The Bald Guy

Probably why a lot of things stay hallowed in my head is, I guess, because my world still lingers around a lot of undone things. Unsaid words. Unaccomplished possibilities. Gargantuan morsels of hope that ended up getting swallowed by despair. Menial trivial things that could have created a memory, could never make it. Like the time she had wished to stroke my hair. The fact that it never happened left a hole in my dimension. It ended up becoming a skipped fragment that could never possibly attain fruition.

Other petty notions of our talks that could have avalanched into a nervous wreck stay disbanded in space. Broken threads they are, suffering in their own mute misery. No knots find them. They sway like torn dreams. A bazillion “could-haves”, those hidden somewhere betwixt our silent whispers, could never make it. That makes me sad. That shattering incomplete feeling is a consequence of all such figments.

I wasn’t fortunate enough to even have my day. One day! That could have flung us towards unrivalled elation. Not even a seamless graze on a cheek to test those walls of love. Not even melting away in each other’s arms. Not even a hug of tingling warmth, to say so long. Nothing to justify. Nothing to prove all those words of mettle that once echoed to and fro between the media of mundane. Words they ended up being. Spoken and forgotten. Like crude promises. They fell dead like a pang of wretch. Shot down mid-air by a bullet of fate.

We could never even make it to the finish line. All those dreams just kind of fluttered away in time. Lost. Never to be found.

I just feel all of it at once sometimes, and then sometimes never. Hard to explain. Maybe I am all alone in this dead vale. Meant to feel that way. Maybe truth deserves me more than ever, as it sneaks through to speak through from beyond, beyond the holes of my past.

The Perpendicular Universe Dreams
From the deepest alcoves of my mind, you somehow always make it back. This time so powerful! Appearing like a memory so strong that it was hard to shake you off. Another dream like a bazillion others, I wish you would never come back. But there you were, unequivocal akin to reality.

I saw you once again. Proximal you were like a strong silhouette, and I was happy to see you. Why? I often ask why? I have never thought about you in the real-extant world? Why now? But there you were. Maybe it was a parallel dimension playing its stupid games once again. Your parents were mine. They seemed embarrassed. I was silently passing on those adorable kisses whilst talking to you. You seemed distracted pointing my head towards the matter at hand, but I wouldn’t look away. My eyes would only find you. Funny that feeling! Hard to put a name to it.

We were talking about future arrangements – where would our Jacuzzi land, and how our marriage would appear. I was least interested because you were nigh. All I saw was you! Right betwixt my seeking eyes. Kissing you, making you moan into “Stop! Someone is coming!” Weird those words, something I never came across, ever. And yet in that mist I was bold as hell. Because nothing mattered. Nothing!

Coming back to life, I wondered what I was dreaming about. Why was I dreaming about you? Again? You might as well be steps away from getting smothered into a wraith intangible. You might as well be following a soul unwavered by the beautiful past we wove together. You might as well be knee deep into life’s shittiest muck from where there is no turning back.

Still it made me ponder, still. Why? Why were you in my dreams? No one screams an answer. It is awfully quiet around here.

The kite conundrum
It is that time of the year again. When my city plunges into the depths of insanity. We love to bask in its unmatched profound revelry, and make a silent promise to ourselves, holding out strings of time in our hands whilst looking up at the sky in the backdrop,

“To never growing up!”

Turning the time handle to revisit glimpses from past, I remember, clear as crystal, doing the “kite-talk” with my friends at school. Some would be curious to know how many kites each one of us would be buying just to slap back condescendingly at our numbers, some would be bragging about their kite-flying skills, some would be teaching the correct manoeuvre to take down enemy kites, some would throw in unheard of kite-jargon making things even harder for the newbies to grasp, whilst I would be busy listening to each one of them with jaws wide open in awe. I remember rushing back home and sharing it all with my brother. Something had me convinced, if there was any truth in the world, it would only spew from the mouths of my friends.

With gusto written all over my face, I would always be found on the roof, every evening, months before the actual festival knocked on our doors. Hours wasted in sheer hope of catching a fleeting kite, ‘cause nothing compares the ecstasy of scoring one. When I would catch a fish, I would keep pestering my dad into flying it. I would initially be the live audience, the one that fuels the passion of the protagonist. “Papa! Cut the red one! Go compete with the green one!” would resound like little dares whilst my father would come back triumphantly, “Now, which one?”

Come the day of the festival and I would go loco! I used to be fond of a star-studded sky. But finding myself ‘neath a kite-studded one, hurled me into pits of unmatched euphoria. Those were my learning days. When slackened kites hovered over me, I would leave my own to catch hold of the ailing plaything. Sometimes I would wake up with dreams of strings that flew past mocking me.  I ended up being the joke of the town. Talk to my mom, and she still has my kite stories on the tip of her tongue. She loves that stuff! Having a good ‘ol laugh at stupid things I did!

Time taught me the ‘how’, and my verve got the better of me. Oncoming years found me a fad I am still trying to reason with. Two days of festivity under the hood of the punishing sun. But that’s not how our brains look at it. We see fun! Downright orgasmic leisure!

With tanned skin leaving my face burnt as cinders, I would be surprised to find out my friends talking to me normally at school. I would actually go with extreme honesty, “Dude, are you able to recognize me?” Then our relentless showing off would commence! We would flaunt our injured fingers, then the taped ones, then laugh at those who had all ten of them intact, brag about uncooked parts of our faces, (goggles would often leave an unmarked territory around our eyes) and we would pretend like superheroes, talk about our high scores or come up with a funny account.

Even today, the fever hasn’t run out and the fire is still burning. It is quite surprising how every year I somehow make it home during the festival. To that I am really grateful.

Name it as you may! You can call it Lohri, Makar Sankranti, Pongal or Uttarayan. We really don’t care as long as we get our badass kites to soar! That’s the only thing we know of. This day has only one significance to us.

Image

Morpheus: What brings you here my child?

Me: What did I just see?

Morpheus: I just project stuff. What you choose to see is your doing. You should be thanking me for manifesting ‘her’ after so long. Trust me, seeing your heart glow is the best feeling in the world.

Me: Seeing my, what glow? Are you high?

Morpheus: I am not sure how to answer that.

Me: She is buried in the past. Why do you always bring her up? All these years, did I ever think of her? Why do you punish me then?

Morpheus: I am just trying to fill the void. I hate to see that hole. Everything craves for greater expression. Remember?

Me: But I am done thinking about her. Isn’t she like in another dimension or something now?

Morpheus: You have shut yourself out. She exists.

Me: Then I do not wish to know. She is dead to me.

Morpheus: I am sorry to hear that.

Me: Don’t you have others to bother?

Morpheus: I am with others too. I am with those who need me, also with those who don’t. I am engraved in their conscience. I am seeping in their blood. I am jostling in their thoughts. I am persistent. I am perpetual. I will always be there when there is exhaustion. I will be around as long as eyes could carry weight. I will be there when fatigue gets you. I will be smiling when bed finds you.

Me: There you go! Nobody asked for your introduction sucker. Nobody has ‘TIME’ to listen to your BS.

Morpheus: I make it stop. Time. It’s my bitch. I control it like I control your thoughts. I can make a man dream of eternity in a single hour’s sleep. I can show him naught in perpetuity. I am drenched in the blood of thoughts. I rule in the nether world and I will affect even the days, as long as people are slaves to daydreaming.

Me: Tell that to someone who gets intimidated. I like the way I am. In reality and in your fucking dreams. Just leave me be. I love living in the world without her. Without worries. Without apprehensions.

Morpheus: Without true happiness?

Me: You keep doing that. Why do you do that? You are the meanest son of a bitch, I have ever encountered.

Morpheus: I feel sorry that you think about me that way. I am just trying to help.

Me: Help? You call that help? I am alright in reality. I pass on just fine. You come and obliterate everything. Tell me one thing, though. I am curious – why was I happy when she was around, in my dream?

Morpheus: This is again your doing. I do not have control over human emotions.

Me: But you do control projections and memories. Once I go into sleep, I lose control over myself. It is as if I am hanging in space, powerless. You mess with my reality. No wonder they call you a Dreamlord. Why can’t you just show me the good stuff? Couldn’t you leave memories locked up tight in the darkest pit brain has? Or even better, just delete them permanently? Learn something from computers for a change? Huh?

Morpheus: I do not fathom the computer jargon. Bit tacky for my taste.

Me: Oh! Look! You made me laugh.

Morpheus: Memories are perennial. They will exist till the day your heart stops.

Me: My heart stopped the day that final memory read its chapter. So I suggest you don’t turn those leaflets. What is gone is gone. What might or might not come, I don’t give a rat’s ass. I believe in the moment.

Morpheus: Wow! I am definitely using that on a t-shirt.

Me: Fuck you Morpheus!

Morpheus: I shudder at the thought of seeing you void of emotions. I want you brimming with it. You do not think of her anymore. It saddens me. Dreams about her used to bring joy to your life. Her sheer memory used to lighten you up. You would go in a trance and beg me not to stop. The moment I would, you’d wake up all bummed, cursing me silently, with a voice, only I can hear and tears, only I can see. I don’t want that for you.

Me: The fuck do you care? Why don’t you just leave me alone?

Morpheus: I am afraid…..I….I….can’t…do that.

Me: Why the fuck not?

Morpheus: Because I am your figment. I am just ‘YOU’ trying to reason with yourself. I am ‘YOU’ trying to accuse someone, anyone….for that to matter, about your weakness.

I am traumatized when I see you succumb to gloom. I become elated when I see you happy. I am the reflection you have always hated yet silently adored. I am the good guy in disguise. The bad is deliberately written all over me, so that next time you see me, you curse me, scorn me, despise me, abhor me to your guts. You rip me out, tear me apart, cut me up, beat me black and blue, coz I know your temper, yet respect your passion. No matter how much you alienate me from your body, and treat me different, no matter how harsh you treat me, no matter how atrociously you ignore me, you hurt yourself in the process, you vent out all of it on yourself.

‘YOUR’ body bleeds black and blue. ‘YOU’ have a heart that doesn’t beat. ‘YOU’ have a tethered soul. Why, you ask? Because, I am ‘YOU’. I am just you, poor child!