Hey there! Pt. 2

Take off your shoes. Don't worry, this is dirt, but it's clean dirt. Like the Earth. The un polluted, pure parts of the Earth. Walking on this will actually make you feel better. So anyways, come on in, lonely soul. Yes, we have established the fact that you might not be a lonely soul. But if you are one of the rare people who have found their soulmate, please hold your tongue. You wouldn't want to offend your host? Especially since you are in the host. I mean in my brain. But here we are, and off we go once more on the tour.
So I know last time our goodbyes were a bit rushed and abrupt. What can I do? Management had a fit. Management was still so against having you over again. But what can I do? I had to.
So that's the path we took last time. This time, Management told me to lay out the rules before we went inside. I know, tedious. Anyways: just don't touch anything, ESPECIALLY A MEMORY, and keep to the path. Stick with me because trust me, you do NOT want to get lost in here.
So I thought I would take you to the Insomniac Sector. This is where I am when I can't sleep. You might find that this is covered with crazy colours, but that's just how it is. So come over here. You see this tube? It's like a tunnel but I don't think anyone can fit down here (even if you are skinny and small enough don't try it) but this is also the most unfortunate connection. This connects my brain to my legs. In other parts, similar hollow tubes connect my legs to those other parts. So basically, when I can't sleep, I get this urge to move my legs, hence the tossing and turning. Moving on, we can see over here how the Bad Memory Sector is linked to this part too: every stupid and cringy thing I may have done or said is revisited and re-evaluated. As you can see: the Over-Analysing Sector is also connected. The Fear of The Unknown and The Fear of the Near Future are also located behind that black box. The Fears are actually part of this Sector and we just provide connections when they are required in other Sections or in other times. I can't open this black box in your presence. I'll tell you what it contains: an overwhelming concentrated colour fusion. Opening this will keep you awake for hours, until you feel as if you are loosing yourself and your soul into this. After that the Colours will trick you into the Void. Here, the Void will strip you of your identity and defence. The Void will strip you until you are raw and bare and then it will target you with everything you have ever avoided or defended yourself against. You think you're so smart that you can just choose to not go into the Void? Do you not know of the sinister nature of these colours, enticing you with their ways, luring you in into a seemingly merry world and then… The Void. Many a man has lost his sanity here. You remember when I took your coats at the door? I didn't just take your coats. I took away your material existence. So take a look at yourself. What are you? A bare soul. Vulnerable. So the only material existence here is the one that I possess. Nevertheless, let us continue!
Any questions? No?
Your sanity?
My sanity? You see, this is my brain. My brain is the guardian of my sanity. So yes, I have been in the void, and yes, I have survived it.
The insomniac Sector gets its own access to the Eyes. You know the little innocent light of the street lamps outside which slips in through the tired old curtains and dances on the ceiling? My brain stares at the light until it reaches the intensity of the Sun and becomes unbearable. Aah the connection with the ears: this is what makes me think that my brother breathing in his sleep sounds like a train going around in my head, whistling away in my ears.
This is the overall-over sensitivity of the entire body: usually, I can sleep anywhere no matter how hard or soft it is. But in insomniac times, the slightest bump feels like a huge knife trying to pierce my skin.
Over here, this is the Past and opposite this is the Future. I spend a lot of time inside these rooms. The space in between is (quite obviously) the Present but I guess during Insomniac times being in the present gives me anxiety, even though the anxiety is in anticipation of the future….
So here we are in the Conversation Room. Here I go through any conversations I may have had, online or offline, and think how I could've answered differently or said something wittier if only I had taken an entire insomniac night to think before I answered. Not that there's something wrong with what has been said. But what's an insomniac night without over-analysing and worrying about something completely useless and unproductive, right?

Anyways. I don't want you to start thinking you know everything about me or atleast about this Sector. There's lots that has been left unsaid. It's safer that way. That's the door right there, if you want you can leave, if you want we can have a coffee or something. It's up to you but I won't show you more. I think this is enough for this time.
So what do you say? Coffee or "Rab Rakhan"?

Random Stuff I Write During Class

The ring played in her fingertips. The thumb rolled it over to the middle finger, which passed it to the index finger. The ring was constantly being rolled over, sometimes this way, sometimes that way, nimble fingers playing…

And then, all of a sudden, it slipped from the index finger. It fell, fell, fell into a dark abyss between all five fingers, and landed quite abruptly in the palm. As if in shock, all five fingers froze, unsure as to what was to be done now. The pause was only for a moment, though. But it still felt like an eternity before the thumb reached down and, slowly, took hold of one edge inside the ring. It half-dragged, half-rolled it upwards. As the ring ascended, the index finger, quite nervous now, reached down too and took hold of the other edge. With a united effort, the ring was once again held up to be crowned on the tips of the fingers.

The girl sat beside her, and the motions of the fingers and the ring had her mesmerized. She looked, and she saw. The fall of the ring, the rise of the ring, the way it moved with the gentle movements of those fingers. She almost gave a cry of despair as the ring fell, and joy filled her eyes like tears as the ring rose.

The girl to whom the hand belonged, however, saw the ring unseeingly. Her mind was away, far away, thinking thoughts that were better unthought, the epicenter of which was that ring. Her lower lip trembled, but the eyes stared defiantly at the ring. The ring, however, had drowned in its new-found self-importance, and was oblivious to the world.

The bell rang, all was lost. All was lost.

Steamed Windows

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The windows of the car were steaming up. The girl shivered. It was getting cold now. She switched the A.C. one step lower. Through the fogged windows, the world was a magical place. She could only see the brightest areas of the market place, which made the effect stunning. She could see the headlamps of a car speeding away, a motorbike trying to over-take it. She could see the street lamp across the road, spreading light across the market place. She could see the illuminated sign boards, with broad letters and perfectly square corners. All she had to do was roll down the window, and this magical enchantment would transform into a hot August night, bustling with life and noise, a busy market place where everyone was hurrying. She reached to roll it down, but then changed her mind. She had witnessed those scenes far too many times. The fogged window provided her with a scene from an enchanted land. A land that could be hers entirely… where she could decide what was to be and what not. She let her imagination run wild for a moment. Just a moment. Because the next second she was roused by the magnificent roar of thunder. Now she rolled down the window, at last.


A tired sleepy girl in a red velvet nightie just settled into her bed covers. It must have been about 11’o’clock and she was exhausted. The day’s events had been hectic. She knew also that the rest of her family were already fast asleep. It was a hot night. The windows were open and the fan was making queer sounds. She decided to call the electrician the following day. There was just so much to be done in the house before the guests would arrive.The guests would have to sleep in her room, of course. Then maybe she could sleep in her sister’s room? Yes, she would have to.

A majestic roar of thunder broke the chain of thoughts in her weary mind. She raised her head for a minute and scanned the outside through her window. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky for a split second. The girl sighed. A thunderstorm, she thought. Then she closed her eyes and muttered a prayer of protection.


The old man straightened his bent back with some difficulty. He made his way to his bicycle. He stopped, and with one hand took out a few hundred rupee notes from his pocket. He smiled. He had had a day full of hard work, and he had put in over time. This would get his daughter the clothes she needed. She was getting married. Most of the preparations were complete already. Though he did need to pay the electrician. And the tailor. He frowned. He mounted the bicycle with some difficulty because his arms ached. In the morning he worked as a gardener, then he would come to the market place and do the welding. Today, however, he had also been chopping wood. But quite simply, he was tired. It was 11’o’clock. He hoped his wife had his dinner ready. He was starving. He scanned the marketplace with weary eyes, searching for his son. There was a car parked under a tree, some distance away. The engine was on, and the windows were steamed up! How odd! He wondered why the windows were steamed up. A roar of thunder made him jump. A thunderstorm? He needed to get home quickly. He saw the window rolling down. A man was running towards the car. The window now revealed the delicate face of a beautiful lady wrapped in a green scarf. She must know the man, because she was smiling at him. And then a flash of lightning…


The window allowed the hot air inside the air conditioned car. It felt nice. The car was too cold. She looked outside searching for her brother. She didn’t have much difficulty. He was running towards the car. She smiled. She was actually getting anxious. It was getting late. It was 11’o’clock! But now she smiled in relief as she saw he had her art supplies with him. For a moment her gaze wandered to an old man with some hundred rupee notes in his hands. Then she saw his face light up first with lightning and then with horror. She traced his gaze. Her imaginings from a while ago were no longer imaginings. Without thinking her hands opened the door that creaked on its hinges, and ran to the now lifeless body of her brother, struck down by that bolt of lightning. The condensation on the window of the car found it to be too much, and the tears which should have been on her tears now traced the edges of the window.