Tired Eyes and Laughing Darkness - A Day in the Night of an Insomniac in the Making

I don't know what it is, but I haven't been sleeping well at all for quite sometime now. It may be that the work is getting to me, but I don't think that's true. Odd and irregular doses of food and alcohol must also have a role to play, and then there is Cookie. Most mornings, before its even seven, the stupid dog insists on climbing on to my stomach, frantically wagging her tail and pushing her nose into my face. But it's difficult to be even slightly angry at someone who eagerly waits for you to wake up, only I wish she'd wait a little longer.

So, I've been sleep walking and absentmindedly going through work and life. It's critical, the situation I tell you - but still too early to announce it is insomnia.

******

But there have been brief periods in my life when I've suffered from that debilitating disorder. Okay it may not be insomnia as defined in teextbooks, but the effect was the same for the days that i suffered. One such spell occurred a year ago, and lasted for quite a while. It came to me in the middle of the exams, mainly because of the boredom from committing to memory page after page of useless garbage, coupled with the stress and pressure of doing this hateful task well.

One such night...

******

9:30 PM eh? Even if it takes an hour for it to come, I can sleep till about 6:30 - 7 and get more than 8 hours. Hmm, good thing, and it has to be done, otherwise the rest of the day will be spent doing nothing else other than saving my head from falling onto bits and pieces of Game Theory.

I have about half an hour to 9:30; enough time to eat something. Think it was hunger that kept me up all those nights.

(No you idiot!)

Chocolate Biscuits.

Maybe I should brush, I did that at school and at home, and nothing went wrong. But that would involve going out of the room, walking to the loo, contact with water and maybe a stupid conversation or two - Kitna Kiya? Boss, you are going to top this time, tu phodega!

I might as well dunk a few cups of coffee. Wait a minute - is it all the filter coffee at D School. Mmmm coffee, sigh!

...wasting time!

Brushed. Made threatening statement to neighbours to not turn on music, yell or breathe loudly or I'd pour cold water on them in the morning. All the walking and talking has robbed me of a bit of immediate drowsiness, so lets say I'll sleep at 10 and - oh well lots of time... I'll be on full throttle all day, tomorrow.

Turned off the lights. (9:15, alarm set for 7 AM)

I lay to rest my tired, dizzy and heavy mind on a broken excuse for a pillow but which has been used so long it fits my head perfectly.

(No I'm not disfigured.)

Eyelids shut, I do this carefully, I figure you shouldn't be concentrating on sealing them together, it takes too much focus and energy and will almost definitely keep me up all night. Gentle close.

But eyes still wide awake! If you have ever really really tried to fall asleep, you'll know the process involves putting to sleep first the various voices, ghosts and people inside you. And all this begins when you start to reign in thoughts. And that's when you fall asleep, when you run out of thoughts and then sensation. But its such a practiced art since childhood that it's meant to come naturally. The moment you attempt to consciously have no thought you can never do it because that in itself is a thought and leads to many more.

For example: Man I have to stop thinking - only way to sleep - haven't slept in four days now - it began on the day of the TET paper - damn, I screwed it up - bloody Sudhir Shah, rotten questions - what is it that makes a teacher set a long and tough paper - I'd never do it to anyone........................Man I have to stop thinking ----

(9:45, alarm 7)

Brief sounds of people fooling around outside. Even the occasional screech of a bus travels to my irritatingly alert ears from miles away. I am almost fully awake now. Hmm. Maybe I am moving too much?? So for the next half an hour I lay straight on my back...

(10:15)

Now things are begining to get scary; am losing too much time to all this... Yawning about five times a second I make a strategic intervention. Maybe I'll just keep my eyes wide open, and stare into the darkness... It will tire them just the right amount and close them exactly when I'm falling asleep. Also the boredom of the whole exercise will get to me, hopefully...

Except that my eyes were burning with sleep and it was difficult to keep them alive for more than five seconds. Plus I was too busy congratulating myself on my ingenuity and in the process making my self more and more alert...

(10:40, alarm reset to 7:30)

Okay now its really grim. I pray! I don't get up or anything, because all that movement would be suicidal in terms of sleep. But I pray, then turn on my right side and tell myself that now its up to Him (I absolutely believe in melodrama!) I imagine I am floating a few feet above my bed, and will fall asleep when I settle down slowly on the bed...EXCEPT THAT ALL THIS IS TOO MUCH MENTAL WORK!!!!!

(Chorus) Man I have to stop thinking - only way to sleep - haven't slept in four days now - can't ruin tomorrow morning because of this - damn, if I screw up Game, I'm done for - bloody hell, why didn't I take some stupid paper?? ........................Man I have to stop thinking ----

(11:15, 7:30)

Desperate now. Really really late. I am certain I have ruined the morning session of study too. But I tell myself if I can get some sleep and be fresh and all, then even post lunch I could do enough. But I need to sleep. I revert to being completely motionless, this time I am on my side, and I clutch my quilt like a pillow. Hmm I am sure if the quilt was a girl I'd be asleep in no time... Except maybe the hours before would be spent umm more productively. And the morning would be a waste in any case..


(11:35, 7:30)

Okay, all that effort I made to not move has made me hungry again. The hunger I am sure was an outcome of my paranoia, completely convinced as I was that I couldn't sleep even if I was slightly hungry. So for the first time in more than two hours I got out of bed, chocolate biscuit in one hand and water in the other. I swallow multiple biscuits at the same time, softening them with water. Of course all this action means I am not even drowsy anymore. So I decide to tire myself out by walking up and down the breadth of my room (10 feet). I do this for about ten minutes, counting the laps. I continue to drink water to ensure my stomach is completely full. The biscuits are making me sick and the walking is making me dizzy. To capture the perfect sensation of sickness coupled with giddiness I jump from my walk into the bed almost at once. Okay now, my approach to this has become a bit military - Sleep you stupid fuck! Sleep! No feathers, or eyelid control or anything else. Just sleep!

(12:00, 8)

Shit, I needed to take a piss now. All that water meant I had to make some five trips to the loo in the next half hour. I felt as stupid and distressed as it is humanely possible to.

(12:30, 8)

No attempt now to do anything. I just lay in bed. But like I said I am a bit crazy (refer to last post). I let my mind wander once again. I thought of possibly everyone I knew, worried about child labour and the falling dollar, man I was getting comfortable with my disorder.... But suddenly this separate voice in me understood what 'I' was trying to do. I was trying to tell 'myself' that I was okay with this so that 'I' would stop tormenting 'me' and WE could fall asleep.

(1:00, 9)


Okay I needed to iron out my reverse psychology skills before I could use it on my schizophrenic self...

(1:15, 9)

I sat up in bed with a jerk. So, I was helpless and everything inside my head was entirely muddled. Putting my head on my knee, I found all of this strangely funny. It was just one night I was fretting so much about, and only one exam I was worried about, an exam which was part of a course I really didn't care for deep inside, and I had studied well enough already... So I was smiling and all, really it didn't matter. One part of me was still in the immediate, still anxious and worried about sleep, but most of me was feeling nice and crazy. So I lay down again, what the hell! It wasn't even important..

(2:00, 9:30)

Okay, no acts of bravery or consolation coming out of the imagined and romantic futility of a single test could calm me now. I had destroyed the four hours I could use for studying at night and now I would in all probability be sleepy through tomorrow. So I switched on the lights and began to study...

(2:15, 9:30)

The simple world of even Second Price Auctions was completely baffling at the moment. Whom was I kidding, I should be sleeping... And then suddenly, from the wreckage of the night emerged this fabulous gem of an idea. Why don't I sleep on my desk? It's the familiar posture that my body recognises from the endless hours spent dozing off in the library plus I can wake up tomorrow and instantly jump into studying Auction theory. (Okay, the second benefit was trivial but it still gave me the hugest kick.)

(2:30, 10)

Imagine, a completely dark room, with a single sleepy-as-hell occupant. There is a perfectly normal, nice and inviting bed lying completely unused. The occupant decides to sleep awkwardly at his desk, only of course, he isn't really asleep. He can hear the darkness laugh at him...I gathered myself and fell on the bed once again. Lying down on my stomach I was staring at the walls...

(3:00, none)

I thought of many things, don't exactly remember what they were, but they were strange and funny. I thought of home, and Shagun, and how things were at school, and I thought most of my acting days, how it felt to be on stage, to play Ionesco's mad protagonist, I thought of the day I decided to read for a degree in economics, and how if it hadn't been too hot I would have stayed longer on campus and applied for a course in mathematics as well, and probably then I'd be at a different college, among different people, leading a different life, where would I be today in that life? I thought of the job I could get soon, how I wanted to do really well there, I thought of how badly I wanted to make a movie, and what it would be about, I spoke to my characters, got to know them better, I wondered why I always tried so hard to get good grades and when I did get them, for a long time now it didn't mean very much to me...I thought and I questioned and I remembered fondly and I zzzzz

******

It was eleven when I woke up, my head felt heavy after all the work that had gone into the previous night, but I wasn't sleepy. A cup of coffee later I packed in a few solid hours of studying. The next few nights were much the same but a little less dramatic. I didn't do anything exceptional with the exam, though. Of course, now, it's even more inconsequential.

Pages 95-100

I finished reading The Catcher in the Rye, for the third time. But I don't think I'm going to go back to it. A stupid thought passed my mind for a few seconds around page 95-100. And I have been disturbed ever since. Not disturbed really, but something like that. I still love the character. He is insanely funny, intelligent, and honest. Sad and pathetic, too. Well I don't think I can explain exactly what I thought or why I am disturbed. The vague outline though is that if Holden was a real person, I think he wouldn't have appreciated being written about and all. Or not that really, if Holden was a person, and if he were to read the book - he wouldn't be too wild about JDS. He'd probably think Salinger was an unscrupulous old bastard cashing in on the pathetic state of our very own protagonist.

But Salinger is a great man, he gave us Holden after all. All I'm saying is that Holden and Salinger wouldn't get along too well. Err in my humble opinion. Its a terrible tragedy isn't it? To create a character who if real wouldn't be too fond of you or the literary work he is part of?

Hmm but my love and loyalty is to Holden and not Salinger. So when at that instant on a page around 95-100 a set of wholly abstract thoughts ran through my head leaving an after taste that brought out the complete Holden vs. JDS saga I decided that this was the last time I'd have anything to do with The Catcher in the Rye.

Unless things get too bad...

It's a bit sad and depressing but while reading the book this time I couldn't help but think how I'm slightly like our friend Holden. I guess it's the curse of the hero worshipper, as in maybe unconsciously I'm desperately wishing I was a bit like Holden. But I'm certain a lot of the people I know relate to him, like I do. Almost everyone feels alienated and is seething with angst these days, its a bit fancy and also its heavily romanticised. Plus you are branded super intelligent almost as soon as you feel, or rather you convince others that you feel, alienated and that angst runs through your arteries.

I really do some of the same crazy things, though. Honest to God. Like I remember a few months ago our family (my parents, my brother and sister in law, and me) got into this terrific war. It must have lasted for about 6 hours. Me against all of them. All of us fell sick after the fight I remember, it was so ferocious! But I remember at one point I left everybody to go to the loo; and inside I stood in front of the giant mirror and smiled and made crazy faces for quite a while. I wasn't upset at all. Then I went back and rejoined the ruckus. I was laughing silently and all in the loo. This and other such insanities are an integral part of my daily existence...

There are these other set of similarities that I cant really speak of on this public platform.

So that's that.

******

Dear reader, it's been a few months since I have been writing this blog. And frankly I still haven't figured out why I am doing this. Right now, it just gives me something to do. Just something tangible that takes care of a day or two each month of my mundane life. I don't think I'll be able to dish out a tremendous piece of prose that will change your life forever. I'd love to though, to have a significant impact on your life (observe I don't mention positive or negative, either will do frankly) but really I don't see this happening, at least not in the near future. Till then I guess for you too, this will hopefully become something to do. A lot of what we do, we do because it gives us something to do I guess. Think of all the inane scraps sent on Orkut. It's the only rational explanation. I tell you it's not that tough, just visit regularly for a few days. And then every time you have no new mails, or no person to chat with and nothing else to do while on the net - you'll find yourself meandering through the the internet to come here. At least that's the hope.

The thing is I still want to come up with something substantial when I write here. So I keep waiting and then weeks pass by before anything turns up, if at all. Things do come and go, on and off - but nothing good enough for you, dear reader. So now I have decided to write in bits and pieces. To be more frequent. Even if it means putting up senseless photos of me and Cookie in obscure positions making funny faces.

Its an obsession, this tracking of traffic through my site. Damn you stupid Google Analytics! It's half the reason I haven't written in so long. I keep looking at who visits The Write..

******

Dusshera is a great festival here in Bihar. Everything comes to a stand still for a while. It's a little frustrating for us since our livelihood is linked to the markets and all. And everything remains shut for almost a week. Anyway, I made the most of the break to catch up on sleep and television.

Heard about this shocking incident that occurred during Dusshera here. It's all in the news and everything. Don't know why I am writing about this. I don't know anyone who was directly involved. I got to hear of it from Gopal who works for our distributor organization. Everything happened on the street he lives on, and he only vaguely knew the people involved. I can't say I feel sad for the concerned families, because frankly I don't know them. If at all I feel sad, it's only for Gopal and that too, slightly. And he wasn't even involved. But its disturbing how petty a thing can lead to three deaths. It's crazy how stupid a mob can be.

Basically at the corner of this colony called Shivpuri, there was a tobacco shop that also sold illicit liquor. In the ten days that lead up to Dusshera everyone refrains from eating any form of meat but towards the end of this partial fast people make up for all the lost good times by getting as heavily drunk as they possibly can. Now Kamlesh's brother who lived near Gopal's house went to the tobacco shop and was having a good time getting drunk with the shop owner. Once their spirits were sufficiently high the latter offered egg curry to Kamlesh's brother. But Kamlesh's brother refused on account of Dusshera. However, the shop keeper went on persuading and eventually in a drunken state shoved the egg down Kamlesh's brother's throat.

The fellow was hugely offended. They had a brief but violent argument after which the brother left. Only to return with a bunch of his cronies; they dragged out the shopkeeper's brother and beat him up severely. After which they departed.

But the fellow had actually died, Kamlesh's brother and his gang didn't know of this. In retaliation the shop owner gathered a bunch of his cronies went to Kamlesh's house dragged Kamlesh out of the house and beat him to death with iron rods.

Now Kamlesh's brother and his friends and all were really pissed. In all this, they happened to somehow come across a poor policeman. They blamed the fellow for everything and eventually got so angry that they beat the policeman to death.

All in one day. Dusshera. The day good triumphs over evil, nay, stupidity over mankind!! All for the sake of stupid egg curry. What is it about mobs that makes them so fearless and stupid at the same time? It's a funny place this, Bihar. People are murdered everywhere, but here, its strange how often ordinary people work together in a mob to kill. There are cases of mobs lynching petty criminal (alleged) each day.

Sad state of affairs.

******

A Dull Winter's Eve

I had been lying underneath the warm orange glow of my quilt for a few hours now. Fully awake. I threw myself out of the bed in a sudden jerk. It had to be done immediately.


My room, was dark except for the ugly glow of my monitor. I turned on some music, the sound of it was strange and out of place for my room had been silent for too long...I pulled on my socks, stiff with grime, torn and cold. Then my shoes, muffler and jacket. All this before a single song was over. Its always a shame when that happens, isn't it? I turned off the music, picked my wallet and cell phone - slung my bag and stepped out into the dark corridor.

Kahan ja raha hai be??
CP!
Ladki?
Nahin!

Sometimes I cant stand it when people speak to me for no reason. They just ought to know when not to say anything to me. Well, at least they shouldn't ask stupid questions, it pisses me off beyond belief.

I escaped from the hostel, quickly and without looking at anybody. The rickshaw guys weren't around so I had to walk to the Metro station. It was an entirely uneventful walk. Because it was not the purpose of my evening. If I had set out to go for a walk (which I'd never do) I'd notice the gray brilliance of winter, feel the cold breeze or simply count my steps. But that's not why I jumped out of bed. In my mind I compared this walk to being in an elevator on the way to Floor 38 for a very important interview - wouldn't you just ignore the time spent in the elevator?

Such obscure thoughts accompanied me to the Metro station. It was more or less empty and yet the bloody security fellow didn't frisk me well enough. Almost wanted to remind them of their job - but what the hell! Any how I got too busy getting a kick out of not having to stand in queue for a token because of my fancy Metro Pass, and completely forgot about the relative ease with which one could sneak in a bomb into the station.

There are two ways of getting down to the platforms. I always took the one that was hardly used by anybody else. It was an old habit, I did it for the first few times without thinking and then I guess subconsciously it made me feel like I was different and special and nice-weird. But of course all that was crap, since nobody cared which way I took.

On the platform, the people waiting for the train are distributed in a way so as to form a normal curve. The X Axis being the train; so if I was to wait at the tail of the curve ie in front of either the first or the last coach of the train I had the greatest chance of getting an empty seat inside the train. Because the least number of people would be attempting to enter with me.

Of course, the train was always empty at Delhi University since the route commenced there, so the empty seats were always aplenty and probably everybody else also thought like I did (albeit without bringing in normal curves and X axis) but were too lazy to move to the tails.

The ride to CP would have been another dreary torture like the walk to the metro station, after all I hadn't set out to simply sit on the train. But then there was the great chance of meeting a nice lovely girl on the train and starting a grand and interesting conversation. Of course this tiny dream of mine never ever came true in almost three years of needless trips taken on the bloody train. But it was a nice little hope, always fairly possible despite the high rates of failure. Come to think of it, I was as likely to meet someone taking that stupid walk - but that would be different since we wouldn't be forcibly confined in a compartment for half an hour and therefore the chances of actually getting to have a conversation would be very bleak.

By the way - another bit of analysis. I never ever sat on a seat next to an entrance. It's the area of the coach that gets particularly crowded. Plus on subsequent station when a number of people are trying to get in the first ones that manage to shove there way into the coach are uncouth young men, followed by women of similar age and character and then the rest enter in order of increasing age. So the last to enter are the elderly folk. They stand next to the seats near the entrance and look down expectantly at you with their eyes slightly moist and their lips quivering. Or at least the overall effect is such. Now I may be anything else but I cant help but give up my seat to someone bent double with age. Its the way it is, but at the same time I hate standing through the rest of the trip. So I always chose the seats furthest away from all entrances. This I'm certain nobody else thought of...but even then I have observed that the seats next to me in a bus, train or anywhere, get filled only after there is no other place to sit at all. Maybe the others sense my hositility...

Rides in crowded trains with nobody nice to speak to can be really really boring. But after a while I didn't care much since I was so close to CP. Once there, I got off the train, hurriedly made my way through the CP station, which by the way was teeming with a million people crawling around like ants, and escaped out through the escalator...

I love escalators. I really do...especially when they lead upto CP, its like making a grand entry into an arena.

Even though I have spent a thousand needless hours roaming around the CP I always get lost there. I think its both because I'm a bumbling idiot when it comes to remembering and tracing routes and the fact that CP seems to evolve constantly. But that day I knew exactly where I had to go - I walked quickly, without looking up, as if in a purposeful trance. I didn't notice the various sounds, colours or smells of CP, and continued till I was there finally...

United Coffee House. I stood before its kitschy white door for a while, a few minutes ago I was under the warm orange glow of my quilt, in my room. Then I turned away to face the old pan-wallah who sat there faithfully, like always...I wanted to find out how long he had occupied that place. Must have been a few decades. But I didnt - left it for another day. I bought, in preparation for United Coffee house, a fresh blue pack of Camel Lights. Paid the man, and turned around to say - table for one!

Sure sir.

Typically, I have noticed they make Indians sit on the top floor, the ground floor is reserved for the firangs. Atleast thats what I believe. But today I was alone and the coffee house half empty. So I sat right in the centre of the ground floor. They were playing some cool jazz. I ordered it. Cona coffee with cream. Rs. 55/-

It came in a borosil round bottomed beaker and I was allowed unlimited refills. I dont remember what was going through my head at that time...but I do remember yawning at least once every two minutes.

Then the coffee arrived...I spent an eternity trying to perfect the proportion of sugar, milk, cram and coffee. I generally go by the colour but it takes me a while. I was celebrating. My soul danced with joy for I had complete control of my life - I had the freedom to act on the strangest of my whims and fancies. I could decide that I wanted to watch a movie even at 2 am, and not worry that I'd wake up late the next day. I could grow a beard, shave my head, wear torn clothes, eat aloo parathas and scrambled egg with tea at 4 am and fall asleep. I could listen to the loudest music, I spoke to only those I wanted to, I didn't 'need' to put up with anyone. In those days I could do what I wanted without telling anyone anything, without being asked any questions, as long as I managed within the money I was sent from home and delivered the goods (basically decent grades, which too I worked towards because I wanted to).

Another cup of coffee later, I paid my bill, got up, smiled at an old wrinkled couple, walked out of the coffee house, went down into the metro station, took the first train, didnt get a seat to sit till Kashmiri Gate, got off, took a rickshaw to the hostel, was running up to my room ...

Aa gaya ladki se mil ke?
No you meddling son of a bitch. (silently, to myself)

I was back under the warm orange glow of my quilt. Fully awake.