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.