Beneath the Shrouds of Thoughts

By Bidisha Sinha //

A gold digger chips on in a dark, dingy mine while his face gets plastered with mud… the silence of the night broken by the constant chipping… the music feels the room and into my veins of thoughts. As the cigarette smoke infiltrates my senses, my mind wanders in and out of the things that have happened with me and others. How the lives that is entwined with mine have been living on edges of reality and the unexplained… and yet we all live on with our lives.. isn’t it.. Borderline crazy??? I have submerged my god or ghost consciousness at the altar of science… yet today.. things go beyond my reasons. The only other time I felt this crazy was when I was in love .. but love and bewilderment and fear are different things— differing in their basic anatomy of impact. I was hoping I would never have to write about my dreams—that dreams are exaggerations of our thoughts— convoluted by the feelings that we can never perceive. Well… I have just died and death was one of the most liberating experiences. Let me begin at the beginning. I have had a chronic problem about dreams. I have distorted dreams or pretty desolate ones. Of late my dreams have taken a saner turn. I am taken back to my childhood mostly. The crazy part is every day I have been waking up at exactly 2:22 AM after the dream. Given the history of destruction that I witness in my dreams—these new emotional dreams have been pretty exhausting. In my previous dreams, I generally witnessed destruction around me—to which I was mostly emotionally unattached. There were entire buildings tilting and people being thrown out of aeroplanes onto a burning city… or something. I realized, however— memories of my childhood were exhausting. But the eeriness was that of the time I woke up. Today however, was different. It was one of my writing nights. I prepared my dinner( I stay alone)—danced at some peppy numbers—poured myself a strong cup of coffee and sat at my laptop. By 1.30 AM, I was peaking my writing speed—and I realized I could finish my draft that night itself. So I got myself another cup of coffee, took a small break and came back to writing. I glanced at the clock when I finished my piece—It was 2.30 AM. I was relieved— for both reasons. My eyes were very heavy with sleep. I switched off my light and cuddled up in my blanket piled bed and before I knew I was asleep— but I was not alone—I was in my father’s arm. He was caressing my forehead. I realized that we were not alone… There were other people around us (They are all alive and kicking).. all pouring above me as if in expectation of something…

And then I realized (as you realize in dreams with no one exactly stating anything)… that I was dying—and they were trying to make it easier for me. One by one, they gave me there silent nod, “allowing” me to die— all asking me to be fearless. At the very end my dad whispered into my ears— “do not panic—it will be painless”. Reassured, I closed my eyes as he kept one hand on my forehead. And it began— I started to feel the air out of my body… as it drew away from every cell of my brain—my memories suddenly torch lighted before getting diffused… it was as if through a dungeon of memories and feelings—I was running through … with a torchlight.. as soon as I passed they moved in darkness… before the light extinguished. Then there was peace—a kind of tranquility.. that I never felt in my life. In the darkness—I saw myself die. Someone noted the time of my death. 3.15 AM. I woke up. I was cold. I looked at the watch.

Photo by Alain Frechette from Pexels

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