A young man’s hearty
laughter: he is riding a bi-cycle along a decrepit village road full of
potholes; a ball rolls down on your way kicked off by a hunk; this happens when
you speed walk on the side of a playground just to shoot down your sugar level;
now a different youngster slapping his friend on the back for munching a sugar
candy when the national anthem is being played; another young chap who darts to
a hospital carrying a small boy injured in a road accident.
All the young fellows you run
into trigger your memories. They look like your alter egos. You become pensive,
begin to see in them the adolescent you from whom you have walked away long
back.
Rewind the time a bit; hurtle
it down the decades; and there… you are, a stunning young man brimming with
youth. A rugged man, you make life run errands for you. Adventure was then your
vocation given a sturdy body and mind.
We want to be what we were
once. Since the past is so yummy, we wish to cud chew it whenever life’s obstacles
become insurmountable. When the goings on in life become tough, old memories
offer us their sanctuaries. We, again, seek to blow up our memories into a
bubble and live in it forever.
I used to take refuge in the
cool shades of my retrospections when life becomes so hot and scalding.
Amen!
*
Sunday morning. Predawn
bustle took over the home. I was sleeping jolly well. When the alarm clock
shrieked at 5 a.m. I gave it a big punch. It became subdued. But not Papa. A
man not to get discouraged by a single flop, he had many tricks under his sleeves
just to chase me off the bed as soon as he got up.
Unmindful of the failure of
the alarm piece that succumbed to my assault, he shuffled into my room like a
thief. Pinching my forearm, he tried to wake me. But I did not yield to his
machinations. Like the legendary Kumbhakarna, I got myself immersed in the
ocean of sleep. One of the things you should never miss in life is the
pleasantness of late morning sleep. Unfortunately, Papa had no inkling of it.
‘Would Papa engage a band of
musician – who might play an assortment of instruments into my ears – or a herd
of trumpeting elephant to make me jump out of the bed?’. Thoughts gushed as I
was half-conscious.
My honeymoon with the morning slumber continued
until it rained in my room. ‘Rain!!! How could I get a rain inside the room?
Was I hallucinating? No… I wasn’t. If it didn’t rain how come I get my face wet
with water still dripping from my head?’ I moaned, saw Papa exit from my room
holding a water jug in hand.
When I was about to resume my
sleep, I saw a scrap of paper flutter in the hot air of the whirring ceiling
fan. It was placed under the time piece. I dried my face in the bedspread, took
out the paper and read it. It was from Papa.
“Easwar, don’t be lazy. How
long will you sleep? It has been hell of time since the day dawned. Your late
morning sleep makes the sun squirm. If a bird becomes a despicable slug like
you and sleep late in the morning, it could never get a worm or two. Will go
without feed. If you don’t get up now, I will toss you on to the road.
Get up, moron.
Papa”
‘Huh… why Papa tortures me
like this on every Sunday, thwarting my indulgence to sleep a bit late’. I
grimaced, turned my head to the table. My pen wasn’t there. Only got a blunt
pencil. Turning to the back of the paper where Papa reproached me for my long
sleep, I scratched something that occurred to me then.
Another hour flew. I was straddling
sleep and wakefulness. Soon, my room got jam packed. I writhed in pain when a
rain of slapping lashed at my butt. I screamed, sat up and saw all my family,
including my septuagenarian grandma crowded around me. They looked askance at
me as if I was a crab.
I now heard Kala, my sister, read
what I wrote and, she did this at the instance of Papa.
“Papa, why don’t you allow me
to sleep late in the morning even on Sundays? You know those who oversleep are
smarter than the early risers? I don’t eat worms as I am a human, not a bird.
The sun comes to work early as his father may nag him like you. Papa, don’t you
have any work worth doing. The barn in the backyard clutter with heaps of uncleaned
cow dung. You’d better go there and clean it. Don’t fiddle with my sleep.
Easwar.”
I heard a riot of laughter
break out when my sister finished reading the stuff I wrote. While my family
was chortling at the discomfiture of Papa, I curled myself on the bed again,
pulled the blanket, covered it on my face and began snoring.
*
This is another bout of memory The World Sleep
Day unfolds and, it helps me find out the adolescent boy I have lost in the sea
of time. I love those recollections that make me smile no matter what is going
on in my life now.
Guys, try to walk into your past
once in a while just to see how sweet it is.
Images courtesy: Google
