The Surrealist

From the Archives.

12th December 2011

I swear on the holy mother of crap, I have never seen anyone more bizarre and zanier than the man I stare in the mirror. I find courage and love quite similar in many ways. For some enlightened minds, love and courage is mere stupidity and for some less fortunate people being stupid enough to make those mistakes in a loop seems to be the way. It’s all in the mind, some would say and even go onto explain them using the concept of tampered hormones. To put it in simpler terms, if you cannot get over someone it indicates improper functioning of your brain and unbalanced hormones. Well, as if I give a fuck about all that!? As I said earlier, I am a bit weird.

This happened to me yesterday when I was asleep like a pig all alone in my room. There was no electricity so I couldn’t afford to watch porn and had to diverge away from my usual pre-sleep routine. Not that I am a pervert, or maybe I am, it just helped me keep my mind attached to something. I feared my idle mind. The train of thoughts usually took me back into the eerie past and I was apprehensive of that. Now that my graduation was over it was hard to survive. My room was flooded with novels, unfinished plays, compact discs, gatorade bottles, karaoke machine, a huge poster of Metal gear solid and some pictures I had taken print outs of from Orkut. Not that my studies had been affected by any of the incidents of the past, but they did surface up from time to time. It was like they missed me if they didn’t turn up and beat the hell out of me.

So, I was peacefully sleeping on my bed. I had fallen asleep reading Max Payne, the comic. My speakers were faintly playing Creed and Nickel back. Somehow, I felt attached to these two bands those days. The last song I remember fiddling in my ears before closing my eyes was ‘One last Breathe’. It must have been an hour only into my sleep when I saw myself crying in my school cafeteria. I couldn’t comprehend the reason behind those tears and it must have been a minute or two before she arrived. She held my hand, pulled me out of the cafeteria into the playground and held me close to her. She hugged me and whispered in my ears” everything will be fine.” I must have held onto her tightly, perhaps through the night in my sleep. It’s not that dreams are random, they are just embedded thoughts inside us that sprouts up during sleep. A dream is just an imagination or a recollection of our thoughts. It cannot be tampered with. I hadn’t thought about her much after my course was over. I was learning to keep myself busy and not indulge in her memories. Why would my mind fuck up everything then? Visualise a dream that is destined to elude me. It was a mystery I didn’t want to dwell in.

I woke up in the morning and stood in front of the mirror. I observed my cheeks closely. There were salty trails all over them, the ones that are left behind tears. I had actually cried that night but that was the only part that was real. Everything rushed back to me. It was like standing in front of a car with an unusually loud and irritating siren. The classroom, the cafeteria, the alley behind the bookshop, the stage, the morning prayer, the physics lab, it seemed like I was in a black hole trying to suck out everything that mattered to me, everything that was once mine. Somehow I wanted to dream again, that same playground, even if it meant I had to cry every single night. That hug might seem silly in a dream, but it showed that even though we had given up on each other, some shallowly situated brain cell of mine hadn’t given up. From then on I have slept every night reading the same comic and listening to the same song. I haven’t had the same dream again. I have filled my mind with her thoughts, stared at those print outs from Orkut for hours and still nothing ever happened. I yearned for that dream, I don’t know what it was or what I could have achieved out of it but every night I slept, I hoped she would hold me again.

It’s been almost seven years now. I have given up on that dream, just like we had given up on our dream of being together. Why is it that we take so much time to realise that sometimes it’s just advisable to move on or get over or whatever people call it. Then again as I had sworn on the mother of all the holy crap in this world, I am a freaking freak! I am a telepathy consultant now. I help people get in touch with their loved ones who have drifted from the path of life. I can convey a message to anyone in any corner of the world. Yet, I have never been able to tell her to come visit me just once the way she did that night. Life’s unfair most of the times, you wish for something beyond your reasoning and then you break down once it vanishes into thin air without a notice. How does it feel when despite giving your heart out towards something, it never becomes a reality? It was just a dream some would say, it was much more than that, much more than a dream, more than anything I could ever be or achieve. I don’t explain the importance of that dream to anyone. There’s no point in attempting to do that, and I will tell you why? I don’t know how every time some tiny fucking brain cell sprouts up during my sleep. I had the same dream yesterday. I was reading Batman comic no 25 and listening to ‘nothing else matters’ by Metallica.

Finally my dream inducing serum worked.

A short opening to the novel titled ‘The abused’ by Alcatraz Dey releasing in 2016.