Rumbles of an Insomniac

It’s 4 A.M suddenly you wake up, the room is dark yet lit with a tint of green, from that feeble LED of your air conditioner. The Space is shrouded in serene calmness, breached only by occasional gusts of wind rattling against the window pane. Those wall hanging look irksome from an ominous tint of green. The familiar shapes seem to have morphed into something alien. Occasionally the ceiling is flooded with shades of yellow, lurking out from the top of the curtain, hiding you from the outside world. These yellow streaks paint distorted figurines that crisscross from one corner of the room to the other. Followed by a muffled but, distinct rumble moving away from you.
You close your eyes only to open them again as if taking a mental picture of this surreal moment. Your focus is now affixed to a strange, yet calming rhythmic throbbing. Trying to figure its source you hold your breath only to realize it was you; That Rhythm is your heart. You continue to listen to it, only to be disrupted, when you gasp for your breath.
Again you lie perfectly still gazing into the tints of green on the ceiling like a moth enticed by the flame, contemplating your existential existence. Slowly drifting into the nostalgia of past. Thinking of friends lost, goof-ups in school and screw-ups of college. While the resentments for opportunities lost, drown you into a faded, washed out and muffled flashback. A flashback that overwhelms your subconscious, drenching it with the realization of loss and pain. Your thought train is now off the rails. But, the calmness of night lures you back into the terms with reality, reassuring you of a brighter future. A future of which you are as weary as of the past but still as sure as of the present.
This turmoil of emotions has ignited a strange craving for food. It seems your mind is playing tricks and is somehow misinterpreting emotional void as metabolic need. Now you must jostle that owl off your shoulder and set out on a prowl to hunt for food. You fumble your way across the room into the pitch black hallway making your way to the kitchen off of the mental map. A strange itch accompanied by the butterflies in the stomach, from the anticipation that, you might run into that expensive vase in the hallway or maybe hit your head into a wall or something gains upon you. Finally, you reach the kitchen. Start by raiding the fridge and all the know stashes of motherly love. Only to settle for a stale piece of crap.
Now you are back in your cave, nibbling off that crap whilst fiddling with night lamp making funny shadows on the wall. All the mental commotion, anxiety and nostalgia have subsided. You are now struggling to get that tune out of your head, counting hours of sleep left before you have to wake up and face that torturous world again………zzzzzzzz….zzzzzzz.
Though darkness is evil, the darkness of night is not necessarily the one.
In fact, I think that it’s the darkness of night that wakes the subconscious.
Jostles your fear, giving way to courage.
After all, the millions of years of evolution were to help your ancient self, survive the hostility of night.
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What is nostalgia

What is nostalgia

It’s the essence of existence that makes you feel alive, cherishes and cared. An extravagant sense of just being. Nostalgia, like the mildew, slowly creeps on you while you are not paying attention, mountain grass perfume calling you to those mysterious memory lanes. It is the most reliant fail-safe mechanism that was pre-packed in our DNA by evolution; providing contrast to the predicament of life that tends to be monotonous by the hour. It like jack’s beanstalk taking you to the clouds. So, that you may look upon your puny mortal self and ponder what brought you there. Being nostalgic is the feeling that you have after waking from an afternoon siesta, refreshes you in a jiffy. Once you take a dip into this youth fountain blissfully pulsing with yearning for misty smell reminding of your childhood, friendships long lost into the rubbles of time, gilded mischiefs with friends and siblings, mentally itched holidays and festivities with family, those retarded discussion that went on for hours, limitless roles where you played you own hero.
It’s a gust of winds drifting you to simpler times when being: thrifty was caution, a vulnerability was the strength, pinkie swears were commitments, walking through a dark room was the adventure, imaginativeness was the job and inviting friends to birthday was the greatest happiness. We often close the book as a chapter of life ends, never to read it again but nostalgia wrenches our desires to revisit those ends. Ever so reminding you to the fact that the world will keep going even if everything went wrong but life may not there for you must keep on going writing those chapters so as to be able to revisit those ends when everything goes wrong.
It is the wish come true for a time machine that you always wanted so you could see things in their former glory, fringing on the edge your imaginative universe, wishing you were among those stars.

Nostalgia is the perfect mirror for the ghosts of past, present and future: aptly captured by my dear Friend Manish Shukla :

Sprung in the dawn of relentless flow,
she used to stroll down the lane and steer
to the world, she was an uncaring brat,
No water in her eyes, no drums in her ears,
Nobody knew her, and still, everybody did,

the assumption of reality and reality were no near
An aura that bound her inner soul beneath,
That kept the edges sharp, blunt and clear
But there was something that pushed me to her,
that glowing flame, hidden in the darkness sheer

I saw her in the morning, stomping on the road,
Morning came out the word and made her face cheer
the aghast her in eyes took me aback,
and then the smile she flaunted took me near
soon the time lapsed, and smiles became words,

then there came the time when there only words and no fears
A vast ocean of feel, a pool of emotions,
The hard shell around her contained a pool of tears,
as the words kept going, and the roads between eloped,
the words went on, on the shore, near the river

took me a while to finally feel her life,
the ups, the downs. the cries, the fears
the world made her, a pile of fury
locked in mistrust, too hard to peer
as I went into her eyes, the spark unveiled,

she was the angel that I sought, saw and hear
she was everything I was, a reflection of my soul
that’s when it felt, I am her seer
she seemed rude, rough and the upfront fight for them,
they never really knew, that she was just being a MIRROR!