When he whispers sweet nothings

Every night when I put myself to sleep, I hold on to a book to help me glide through the purgatory - that is a miserable half-daze - and make my journey into the sweat heaven called dreamland smooth. Something like the last piece of reality I want to be in touch with before I shut my eyes to the world and let an unknown force take over.

Between those few moments of half-daze and deep sleep, there is this one short stretch of time where I feel enveloped by multiple thoughts all at once. More like a man whispering unrelated tit bits into my ear – strangely at the same time- but in different tones and from different locations. Picture this. You are on ground zero and you want to get to the top floor. You take the elevator. The elevator is mirror-walled on three sides. You have a co-passenger with you. You see infinite images of him on the mirror opposite. Each image telling you something different; each image showing you something distinct.  Such is the stretch before deep sleep.

Last night I pictured these sweet nothings: A Russian matryoshka doll; a girl of four with small, beady eyes, straight hair and a long skirt – she laughs every time you turn your head away from her and successfully draws your attention;  a long piece of cloth in cream with a red border; some pieces of shattered glass found on a school playground – little girls hovering around to collect the pretty shapeless pieces to play with them later; a wooden dragon on the shelf; a content Buddha head on a plain white wall... A view of the endless ocean from a ship’s cabin – an urgent feeling of “will there be land in sight soon?” ...

A few more thoughts before I am fast asleep.

Image courtesy: goodbooksforyoungsouls.blogspot

Where did my nights go?

I forget what a Starry Starry Night (Courtesy: Van Gogh) looks like. I remember climbing up to my terrace as a child, lying on my back and trying to read the hidden stories behind those constellations using a keychain telescope. I don’t look at the stars anymore and I have been seeing the morning moon for years now.

Some things I have missed all these nights

• Night star gaze
• stomach grumble
• Bedtime prayers
• Goodnight calls
• Mom’s rhythmic pat – pat on the back
• Dad’s slow breathing from the bed nearby
• Which invariably led to a mother’s womb security
• That hand that I could always hold when I wake up to a nightmare
• The happiness that the unforeseen gush of wind (ushered in by the light curtains) brought in
• Bedtime stories
• That book meant to be read at bedtime, but will never reach the second page

Those were the nights !