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"?

Dark Clouds

Dark clouds have turned day into dullness. A magnificent wind blows, entering this window and exiting that window. It is so dark I cannot read, yet I have not switched on any lights yet. The darkness corresponds to my mood. For days now, weeks, the weather had been the same: either oppressive heat with unbearable humidity, or continuous rainfall still with humidity. Why should I call a continuous rainfall “still”? It was so. Everything was still. Days rolled into weeks, weeks into months, and yet all was still. Utter monotony. I sat on the floor, amidst cotton amd nail polish. Looking out, seeing the hours while away, away to be lost in monotony. People ask: are you well? Yes, I am well. Well enough. I have everything I could need and more: monotony. An unchanging routine with no chance of excitement. No prospect for difference for another year or so. People are dying around the globe, death visits the neighbors and here I am. Perhaps the most ungrateful of them all? Perhaps just human? Books find me a way to escape: sometimes the past, sometimes in lands so far from my eye and yet, as soon as we come back, the sameness returns, the circumstances are still, our ways uninterrupted. We have done so much and yet nothing. Looking out I see a freshness in the green of the leaves but I know as I leave the house in accordance with my routine, I shall come back to find even that stale with dust. Sometimes the rain intensifies, sometimes it calms down, sometimes it even stops. I know I have a lot to do and not enough time, yet I know if these words are not penned down they too will be lost in the vast expanses of my thoughts. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. When I prioritise something above words, I am punished by their loss. Yet writing deprives me of words too. This is sometimes pleasant: no words to think of, a clear mind, a consciousness. However, sometimes it has the reverse effect: I am overburdened with words and they keep forming until I have no alternative except to put my mind at rest: sleep. But all this does not relieve me of the current monotony. Seeing the time, however, I realise that I have nothing new to offer to anyone. I am NOT depressed, or upset. These feelings have now turned into cliches and irritate me to an extent that is unbearable. Perhaps you wouldn’t understand, but try living your entire life with the female species of this society… particularly the Homo sapiens. Felis felidae would make a nicer alternative for this society but that has other problems and anyways, I have yet to write about that another day. Anyways, as I was saying, I am not upset or anything, I am just tired of the same sameness that engulfs my world, even though the Earth is in chaos.

Until next time, stay hydrated.

Rab Rakhan. 

(P.S. If you happen to be a female of the species mentioned, please do not be offended, I was referring to the females found in my society that I face. Just like when I do my post on the females of Felis felidae, I shall be referring to those of my society too. I should add that this post reflects my mood for this passage of time, and that almost none of my posts reflect my “permanent” moods or stances on anything, if such a thing exists. Also if there is someone genuinely depressed or upset, you have my sympathies. I was referring to all those people who have turned this into cliches. May Allah bless us all with His bounties. Remember me in your prayers.)

Her

Dry and cracked lips. A face already powdered. Two fat fingers dipped into the lip balm, and then smeared all over those lips. Trying and trying to hide. The dryness, the cracks. Anybody could’ve told she bit her lips when she was nervous. Like right now. She took out some lipstick and put it over the lip balm. Her dress seemed to be too tight for the new spots her acne had left on her back. Nevertheless, she walked out the door, feeling ugly in spite of everything she had done not to.

……….

“Ugh look what she’s wearing,” her friend whispered. “Ugly.”

“Who? What?” She answered carelessly.

“Her. Look.” And so she did. Beautiful jet black straight hair. A waist that thin. A face done up to perfection. Even if her lips were a bit cracked. The dress wasn’t ugly, it just made the rest of them feel uglier than their insides. She suddenly felt as if her own jewellery was somewhat outdated and shouldn’t have been worn at all. The earrings were the pride of her family. It was family tradition to wear them at this dinner every year. But maybe her brown hair didn’t complement her jewellery the way her mother’s had.

……….

Well now was not the time to feel so conscious about her lips. Ugly though they did seem, to her. Now was the time to feel proud of herself and show off. That is, until she hadn’t seen those two girls whispering in her direction. A taller one with an amazing jaw line. And the other, slightly shorter one with hazel eyes. And what amazing jewellery. A complete vintage look. The way she wore that chain around her neck complemented her hair perfectly. And one could tell her hair was naturally like that. The shorter one looked away carelessly. And doubt started in her mind. Perhaps her own hair were to plain.

……….

Two arms grasping the bars of an iron gate. A body trying to gather the will to let go and stand without any support. Black spots formed infront of her eyes every time she blinked. Parched lips and a smudged nose picked up the aroma of a feast here.

A black car pulled up. It was big. Bigger than the cars s he had seen in her nine years.

A man came out. Black suit. Red tie. “Out! Out you bloody little beggar! Out with you hideous beasts!”

The will was summoned for one last move. The bony arms that dragged her into the bushes beside the gate collapsed as they found fresh dirt. Her knees buckled as she saw two beautiful ladies inside the gate and a third one getting out of the car. The last thing her innocent eyes saw was the look of disgust and hatred as the man pulled out something shiny from the car.

……….

The woman must have been around thirty. Probably less. A black fur coat wrapped around her shoulders. The air of uncertainty looming around her. The driver had gotten out to get the wheel chair. Some peasant must’ve been blocking the gate. He didn’t seem too happy about that. The door opened and she placed one hand on his shoulder as he helped her in the wheelchair. Even this simple act was too tiring for her these days. She breathed deeply. Not at this party. She would get through it. Her hand instinctively went to the area above her left knee, where her leg had been amputated last year. It still hurt. A year was not enough to get used to being legless. Especially at social events like these. People judged too much. And stared. Like right at this moment, she could feel the gaze of a black haired girl from one end of the lawn and a brown haired girl with hazel eyes at the other end. She wondered what they might think about her. 

And from somewhere, just somewhere behind her, she could feel an accusing glare that seemed to penetrate through her. 

Mounds of Dirt 

They lay there forgotten. The world passed by, unaware of their presence. Barely visible now. The grass had grown tall now. The vegetation didn’t seem to notice there was anything or anyone here. To the grass they were just heaps of dirt. Organic matter.

A boy walked past, whistling. Two other boys rushed past him cycling. Chasing a dog. An old woman carrying a heavy bundle of something on her bent back walked past too. A man with a saw overtook the woman with an impatient expression on his face.

The car tried its best to get through this busy market place as fast as possible. So many cities left. So many kilometres left before it would reach it’s destination. No time to waste here. But a horse suddenly pulled free from its owner and, in a desperate attempt to flee, ran onto the road. The car, however, missed it by a few centimetres. In confusion, it turned sharply to the left and stopped. People gathered around to control the rogue horse. The argument that ensued between the driver and the owner of the horse was not really understood by anyone. The city dwellers in the car could not understand the local Punjabi dialect. And the locals were confused by this city language.

They, however, heard everything. And understood it. They lay there, aware of their fellow beings wasting away in petty matters, matters that did not matter at all. Matters that would soon be forgotten. Like themselves.

In mounds of dirt.

Dew Drops

Her eyes wandered off, leaving the book in her lap deserted. Her eyes looked, unseeingly. She saw neither the huge buildings and houses, nor the luxurious shopping malls on the way. What she did see, though, was that leaf about to fall off on that majestic tree. That white puppy, wagging its tail, running off to the unknown. The trees as they awoke and greeted each other – a greeting heard by her ears only. That bird, the sun shining off its beautiful grey-brown body, flying past hastily. She gulped in the fresh morning air greedily.

A last glimpse in freedom.

The bus took a sharp turn and she had to grasp the handle bars to maintain her balance. The bus conductor turned around and faced her suddenly.

“Do you have a bus card?” He asked harshly. She nodded dumbly.

The bus stopped suddenly. A few girls alighted from the bus. The ones who were standing sat down quickly before the bus started again. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want this to end. Because if this ended, then that would begin. And she did not want it to.

She tried hard to hold on to this moment. She tried her best to stop time, somehow. Somewhere, somehow, she would be able to. She could but she couldn’t. Somewhere in space, perhaps, time would listen to her. All she needed was the speed of light.

She opened her eyes. The trees on the canal bank flew past her. She knew the next turn would be the last… for now. A sigh she had been holding in for so long escaped her lips.

She looked at the time. Half-past six. The roads were almost empty. She wished desperately that somehow when they reached the college, she wouldn’t have to go in. Instead, maybe she could roam around these road ways, discovering places she did not know before, exploring the unknown, the adrenaline rushing through her veins…

The bus was stopping now. Her friend tapped her shoulder.

‘Let’s go. This is campus 1 and 2,’ she said softly.

She nodded. And then got off the bus. It had begun.