Breaking the illusion of romantic train journeys

Off late I have come to accept the fact that I find long train journeys boring and that I prefer to sleep rather than cozy up to a book. Well, a few years ago, even two years ago, I wouldn't have accepted the fact of boring train journeys but now I realise that I better burst my self-made bubble. I suppose even age has something to contribute in this aspect. There was a time I swore by train journeys. And, sometimes, even now, the appearing of a blue coloured train at a distance with its smoke and sound makes me nostalgic for leaving to some place and just the imagination of curling up with a book sends spasms of excitement through my senses. Alas! the thrill lasts only for a few minutes when the distant approach of a train creates a frenzied longing - after the train arrives at the station and stops - I feel a bit unsettled to leave the comfort zone of my home and take on a  journey.

But mind you, I still enjoy travelling to new places or perhaps I think I do. Sometimes I wonder whether I allow certain lies to fog my mind and knowingly I submit myself to these grand illusions. These lies are always so comforting. They allow us to cheat ourselves and in the process we are made fools by our own thoughts and emotions.

Coming back to train journeys, I wonder whether it is the length of time or perhaps the closed confines of an AC chair that bores me. Maybe long journeys are better with hoardes of relatives and cousins who chatter away to glory. No, I have also travelled with many people but still find myself longing for the journey to come to an end. And books! I do like them but I prefer sleeping to reading while in a train. The moment I open a book, my eyes feel heavy and my senses dulled. I think that my body is weary and I shall sleep a bit and then get back to reading but that seldom happens. I sleep like there's no tomorrow and the book/s remain untouched through the rest of the journey and I make a mental note to not carry any books the next time. But as you suspected, I forget the promise, carry books in the next journey and continue to sleep blissfully.

I have come to realise that we carry an image of our younger self's habits, likings and desires into our consecutive phase of life. I, atleast, think that my tastes in food, books and music will continue to remain the same as I advance in years but sadly that is not the case; probably that is the reason one tends to grow out of friends who were so very precious during our childhood. Sometimes even memories are so - one outgrows them and after a point, there seems to be no much use for those thoughts except that they defined us once upon a time. Awareness of ourselves through passing years is a vital aspect of our life and many a times, we like to lie to ourselves and live under the illusion of seemingly being the same person through the various stages of our lives.

So, what are your thoughts on living under an illusion?

Early risers and compulsive slogs

I do enjoy waking up early before the sun comes up to a quiet and chirpy morning. But alas! I cannot do it every morning or let's say most of the mornings. Well, I can if I want to but I just let myself sleep. I don't much try to make rising early a priority. But, I have seen that early risers always manage to get those Wow! glances and smiles of admiration. Nearly always. When someone rises early and breaks into a run and works out, there is a sense of awe over that individual. It almost seems that people who don't rise early are marginalised and seen as lazy. Every family lauds an early riser and those individuals are always set as shining examples of how life should be lived. Remember the saying: Early to bed and early to rise makes you healthy, wealthy and wise. But don't we all have our own body rhythms and cycles?!?

Now the same applies for those individuals who slog and slog, no matter how tired they are. Now it seems that these sloggers like to slog not because they are wired that way but because certain others are not wired that way. Do you get what I mean. Those who slog endlessly don't know what it means to spend a few minutes without doing something. They abhor idleness and also people who seem to be idle. And almost by default everyone who slogs is an early riser!!!

The world always favours the early risers and compulsive slogs or so it seems. Those who slog always find something to do and are seldom seen taking an afternoon siesta or prolonging a meal. I reckon that the slogging starts off in a very harmless manner and over a period of time becomes an identity. Compliments like, "G is always busy; K always finds something to do; O is never idle" lead the person who slogs to persevere slogging more enthusiastically. Don't they ever relish in just being rather than doing? Sadly, many women are the ones who get into this slogging mode and finally a day comes when they cannot manage and off they snap. But do they have a choice? And sadly, women are also the early risers.

Though I started this post to complain against the unfair means of judging people by the time they rise and the amount of work they do, I went off on a tangent. Well, I forgot to mention chronobiology but then I remember that I had written a post on that a long time ago.

So, are you a proud early riser who flaunts your sleeping habits or are you a poor morning person who sometimes wakes up early? Maybe you slog as well ;)

Image: Internet

Cannot let go . . .

Let me tell you a story: In the Mahabharata, Parashurama was the instructor of the warrior Karna, born to a Kshatriya mother but raised as the son of a charioteer, or lower class of Kshatriyas. Karna came to Parashurama after being rejected from the school of Drona, who taught the five Pandava and one hundred Kaurava princes. . . . One day, Parashurama was sleeping with his head resting on Karna's thigh, when a beetle crawled up and bit Karna's thigh, boring into it. In spite of the bleeding and the pain, he neither flinched nor uttered a cry so that his teacher could continue his rest (Sourced from: http://www.agnihotrausa.net/Lord-Parashuram.html).

Well, I told you the story so that my post becomes easier to relate. Like the warrior Karna, who did not budge when the beetle was biting him so that he would not rouse his master, I find it extremely difficult to budge when someone holds my hand and falls asleep. This mostly happens in the context of younger kids and cousins who come home. 

The young ones hold my hand and drift away to sleep. In spite of sleeping soundly, they don’t let go of my hand and this causes immense conflict within me. When I sleep, I always like to toss and turn until I fall asleep and hence would like to be free of any physical contact. But some of my cousins and sometimes even my sister tend to hold my hand which restricts my movement. Somehow, I think that if I move or try to disengage their hand from mine, their sleep will be disturbed and so I continue to lie motionless. Many times it has so happened that when the person holding my hand tends to snore, I think that I can safely but gently disentangle my hand. But it seldom happens so. The person immediately stirs and also awakens. When the person’s peaceful slumber is disturbed, it causes quite a furore and hence I tend to avoid movement of any sort. I patiently wait for the time when the person turns to the other side eventually letting go of his/her clasp on my fingers. Until then, I somehow try (sometimes successfully and sometimes unsuccessfully) to unclasp my fingers from theirs. Sometimes even when mosquitoes tend to bite me, it is difficult to unclasp the fingers.

Though Karna’s sacrifice was quite an extreme one and mine cannot come anywhere close to his experience, the basic premise of the argument is movement. 

Well, how comfortable or uncomfortable are you in disengaging yourself from another’s clasp while they are near-sleep or sleeping? 

Image: Internet

Stars in my bedroom

The place where we are presently living cannot be characterized as urban or rural; it is somewhere between the two and could be called semi-rural and urban. Ah, sometimes these labels limit us from categorizing. Well, I hope you agree that everything cannot be slotted into labels. I am digressing from my topic, so let me get back into the groove.

Sometimes when sleep plays truant, I lay awake and wonder. It is at those times, that my eyes are fixed to the tiny sparks of light that flit across my room. The dark room gains a glow from these tiny fire flies which have somehow wandered into my room through the open window. Sometimes, I see the light through the mirror and I must tell you that the reflection of the fire fly’s light in the mirror makes a lovely sight. 

You should know that fire flies don’t dwell in urban spaces. They are found only in the country side as there are not many lights there. Perhaps the presence of many lights in the urban and semi-urban places has rendered our eyes blind to the luminous fire flies. 

The weaver-bird (Ploceus philippinus) which weaves its nest beautifully supposedly catches these fire flies to light its nest. Many villages have an abundance of these nests hanging from trees and sway gracefully in the direction of the breeze. One could spend a lifetime looking at those nests swaying back and forth. I am yet to see a nest in the dark. I am waiting to see that spectacle.

These flies spread light and warmth, niggling my senses and thoughts when I find that sleep has betrayed me. Looking at those stars that twinkle in my room, I slowly fall asleep and dream of weaver birds and their glowing nests.

Have you seen fire flies/ weaver bird’s nests? Does your living space bring you joy?

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet 

Conversations with myself

On nights when sleep eludes and the mind is game, a zillion thoughts criss-cross creating no possible method of madness. Last night Lady Gaga's Bad Romance played. I especially like the "Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah" part and only this keeps resonating. I think of Remedios the beauty, I wrote about yesterday and wonder about reading. I read GGM's One Hundred Years of Solitude sometime in  2003 and think about how I used to read books. I always tell myself that after my thesis I shall read many books. It might happen or not. So many things we think of doing when x or y gets over, but do we really get back to it? Maybe we might. I think of fellow bloggers and I stay on one of my fellow-blogger's page which talks of the death of a theatre personality. I have seen one of his plays but I feel very sad and distraught on reading the news. Then thoughts fly to my death. How will people receive the news? I wonder about how I will look when I am laid in the casket and what will be my eulogy . . . I stop. Another thought cuts the other one abruptly: How will my fellow-bloggers know that I am no more. I wonder about a certain someone who is crawling the pages of a blog and regretting something. I implore to sleep and ask her where she is. She is quiet. I start singing. I don't remember what. The tune is gentle . . .

Nothing really matters to me . . . Mamma-mia, mamma-mia. What did the Queens think of Bohemian Rhapsody when Freddie Mercury first wrote the song in 1975. I like that song anyway.

Does the short interval between sleeplessness and sleep take you to several places and times . . . Do you enjoy those stream-of-conscious exercises.