Nap and Sleep

It is as good as mine. The time was wasting its way along the path I thought was so important. Time pondered its presence with me and began to feel that there must be a better use of… its time. But it ticked away and without any of my conscious effort, ticked its own rhythm. To me it was neither extensive nor brief. I had forgotten that time was with me though it would soon be working against me.

 

The sun was setting and the mesh of purple and orange and fuchsia and red tainted the white clouds. They billowed and then moaned as the rays grabbed at them one last time before the sun reset its focus on new time zones.

 

The trees were no longer clean looking. As if coal dust had been blown over them, their leaves and branches became black and shapeless. I was alone with time.

           

I woke surprisingly in a fit, as I could not recall where I was. The cool night’s breeze was handling me softly but over time, like a soft repeated scratch of the back, began to wear thin. I shivered and looked aimlessly around. I saw the brief outline of earth on sky in front of me and to my right. To my left it was less pronounced and was highlighted by the glimmer of moonlight off metal. A red periodic light reminded me of security as I realized my car was waiting for me. I put my hands to my eyes and rubbed, feeling small-crusted pieces of sleep along my lids. They fell politely to my cheeks. There I brushed them into forgetfulness, repeating the strokes to my face three or four additional times before deciding I was rid of them. I rose and felt heavy. I remembered my place and time began to whisper again in my ear – I had to go.

I arrived home far sooner than I anticipated as fantasies I entertained found the shortcuts to my front door. I wished I were somewhere else. I entered my apartment, dark and removed, a little after ten in the evening. I remembered tomorrow’s expectation of work and its recurring 5-day dirge.

I long to avoid the expectations of work. All things work out but at a snail's pace. Trouble and toil. Where is the happiness I am supposed to rejoice in? I lie vacantly waiting for morning. I wait for dawn. The Sun will return shortly. The city will wake. I must sleep. My mind is weak and tired. I was born in sleep and I finally return to it. Sleep. Rest. Good. Till the morning. Ciao and good night.

The wincing sound was not from outside but deep in my mind. The thought of accommodation was from without. I had spent much of my time in a realm of lucid blood and agitated mitochondrial expansion. I expanded my own. I cut loose all pertinent importance. The essence of today was lost in the aroma of tomorrow. Dreams took hold and careened my soul through the landmines I had secretly placed. No matter where I stepped, I was doomed.

I woke tired. I stared at the digital numbers of the alarm, placed uncomfortably near my ears. Its bone-penetrating buzz persisted and I, with arms under my blankets, listened. I thought of emergency vehicles – ambulances, fire engines, police cruisers – racing to their location to add meaning and purpose for them being there. Their buzz equivalent, I understood had true purpose. But what of the litter I was listening to. It was not enjoyable and I realized afterward, I was preparing to mount my animosity upon that inanimate piece of electronics and when the desire came, I would not thwart my impulse.

My left arm, freed from the encumbrances of my bed sheets and blanket, lifted then dropped itself swiftly straight on the alarm clock. The clock continued its cry. Again my arm fell and again the rhythm continued. Next motion was a grab and jerk and off the wall and to the floor that bastard machine sunk. At an angle it rested with its frame newly adjusted and cracked. The buzzing ceased and I positioned my arm next to me on the bed. I could see the clock with where my head was laying. I could see the clock’s face. It blinked 7:06.

Currently Watching The Ladykillers see related

The city was white. I do not recall ever seeing blue sky over Delhi. The air is clean, seemingly so, and the sun shines but blue is not a color. The noise of the street pervades and the movement of legs, arms, wheels attached to bikes cars and buses spin around. Horns honk like flocks stuck on a scratch that can’t be spun out of repetition.

We make our way to the process party for Netscape. We are the honored guests. Expected to speak and dance.

Gurpreet drives Ryan and I and we sit relaxed. The hum of the Suzuki hums and we chat. The fast tick of the car’s clicker directed us to a sidepass, mixing with other vehicles, placement and position determined strictly by size and speed.

Conversation rolls to speed and weaving to and fro. The cars are small, gray and red and gray. Variety existent but terribly similar. Speeding is not an issue but swift turns and quick brakes keep you alert.

We  sit in traffic. An old man stoops, propped on cane, sandals, he make his way to the window. Legs are dark  nothing but knobs and tendons. Arms and body dressed and beard covers neck and shoulders.. His jaw flaps uncontrollably. Eyes focused but not seeing but seeing his time. He accepts the 100 rupees, touching finger to forehead over. He gropples along past, mandible vibrating and blessing hands.  

The light turns green and we maneuver. Chitter chat and smiles about traffic. We meet the next intersection, idling along a Chevy Optra and TaTa Indica.

The light is white. Blending with sky and building and the gray black of the road. White nonetheless and bright.

We move forward and I expect the push of speed when from the right. Motorcycle. Two passengers. Hood. They fly. Speeding attempting to beat the light. Race the grills of the cars revving to run. They don’t have time to swerve they push. They lose.

They spin off the cycle . Wrapped and protective. Eyes wide and scared. I sit scared. Frightened. Mine own eyes keen on the bodies that fly by. Together, they make a revolution and hit hard. Bare hairy legs in sandals. Four of them. Engine does not land on them. Owners pull the legs out instinctively in flight.

Gurpreet has stopped the car and before I realize, he is out and pivoting across out front in the street to the fallen. I open my door and walk toward the fallen. Witnesses who respond in half seconds are there in front of me. Arms helping the fallen.

I step two steps toward the final outcome and stop. The passenger is in shock and works immediately to help his mate. I see them both grimace toward the white sky. Not in pain. Too quick. But in shock. Adrenaline handles his friend and both their eyes are wide. Ryan is a step ahead and aside from me. Gurpreet is lost. In the mess, he, the victims and the quickly enlarged group of bystanders. I catch sight of Gurpreet. Someone, a bystander, tells him to leave. It is okay.

The driver is pulled up and supported by two. His bare hairy leg broken above the ankle, facing a pretty 67 degrees where is shouldn’t be. No bone. Just angularity. The crying reaches my ears. His shock allowed the cry and mine allowed it too. Gurpreet made his way back to drive away. He knows it is best to leave and avoid the confrontation. It arises in the mob that builds. He will be guilty. His is innocent. Matter. No.

Corruption and finger pointing. It is in his best interest to leave and then call the police. Otherwise, he could find himself in the middle of it. A fight and us there too. We drive away.

The fracture of the leg plays figures in my thoughts. Prior, the intertwined spun and caressed. Braced for grounding. Stunned.

We drove on to the club – Club Morrison. The car is silent. Gurpreet calls the police, tells them the intersection of the accident, his license plate, and is informed the ambulance is on the way. Gurpreet tells us they are okay, only bruises. I tell him, no, the leg was broken. Fibulas do not bend like a lazy L. He turns glum but directs himself toward driving. I am relieved. He calls again and confirms the ambulance has arrived. He states they are fine, only bruises. I nod and look at traffic. I think of the bare hairy leg.

We land at the street parking.

Continued.....................

(btw, the version of the Ladykillers with Tom Hanks is not like the original. See the one with Alec Guiness. Mucho bettero.)

The sun has risen and the people amongst the the trees have woken. The women dressed in colors and the men in drab western wear. The huddle together as a family unit, preparing a meal of sorts. From my 6th floor hotel room, I assume they are preparing a meal. I don't really know. I eat a club sandwich. Pour myself another drink.

Staff prepare the pool for guests. Towels. Chairs. In place. Urgent matters to ensure vacationers can enjoy themselves regardless of their surroundings.

The streets begin to come alive. Walkers and bikers. The cars will come soon and the sound of horns will honk repetitively. In my bed they will equal sheep. Lull me into sleep. Send me to dreamland.

I think of Kaushik when I am here.

Each morning, the hotel lobby reaks of Pledge or some type of cleaner. Gallons used to remove the the street smells. It is unpleasant but once in the elevator I forget. I yearn for my room. Solitude. Time.

I long to avoid the expectations of work. All things work out. But at a snail's pace.

Currently Watching Kingdom of Heaven see related

Trouble. Toil. Happiness. And my beautiful self. I sit vacantly waiting for morning. I wait for dawn. The Sun has risen. The city awakes. And I must get to sleep. My mind is weak and tired. Slumber slumber slumber come. Alone one be like a bouncing B.

Born in sleep. Locked in its grips.Don't let it get you. Sleep. Rest. Good.

Till the morn.

Ciao and good night.

(I watched Kingdom of Heaven in flight. It sucked.)