The dream job

He hung the puppets back on the wall, no strings attached. It had been a long hard day. Yet He longed for satisfaction. It was meant to be a stop-gap arrangement, but He never managed to move out. Sometimes, He figured, it’s not a question of options, it’s more about inertia – an innate tendency to let things stay, unruffled. A deep exhale marked the end of yet another day. He looked at the fogged window pane with a tinge of bitterness and wrote His name on the droplets with a finger. As He looked outside the window, there it was – the usual humdrum going on, a world that never slept – the lights flickering, the hum of the traffic, slow but moving, moving towards another day, at a rummaging grumpy confident pace of a giant.

It had been a long time, and yet He never got used to being a part of the usual goings on of His world. It felt strangely apprehensive to be on the top, alone, working odd hours, hours and hours of mind numbing repetitive work day in and day out. Sometimes, He wondered aloud, whether anything He did made any impact, and there was not a soul in the vicinity to hear His musings. That led Him to make indistinct maneuvers to make it interesting, subtle and yet endearing. He felt needy, mildly depressive and yet in control. Another one bites the dust .. played in His walkman. His beeper read in gold font, A.G, blinking, on the desk, signified the end of His break.

The hand written ‘Almighty God’ on the window slowly melted away as the street light lit up the room for the next shift.

P.S Even the dream job is not that dreamy after-all, playing god is tough and I bet He feels feel underpaid, and overworked !

Disclaimer: I have all creative liberty without being blasphemous. In my defense, I have used, or at-least tried to use, a capital ‘H’ for Him everywhere. And finally, I am sure I would have loved Him if I had faith.

Agony of Dreams .. !

Ah ! He let out a scream.

He woke up startled. It felt like a cold blow on the spine. He was drenched in sweat .. breathing hard. He groped in the dark for .. He could feel the dark creeping up on him – slowly. He could hear it walk – the screeching scrawling sound on the glass – it felt near , its breath heavy and cold.

He was perplexed by the intensity of his fear. He could not comprehend what it meant. It was so .. so .. different an experience. His hands kept groping in the dark looking for something .. which he could not hold on to .. with his shivering hands. As he reflected again on what he experienced that night .. he grew pensive again. Why he could not tell it ? Why was it so tiring .. so .. he could not even think about it .. What was it ? How was he to know.

He got hold of his walking stick. That had been his only company since he knew he was alive .. the screech of it gave birth to a disgust .. a repugnant feeling to others .. or so he felt. He could not keep his mind away from last night .. it was so dominating an experience … so frightening a thought ! And he got his hands to ..

But I knew it all . It was the First dream of a Born-Blind Man ! The pain of sight .. the agony of dream ..

..As it rained

And I glanced at the tick-tocking Ajanta wall clock again. The green shining radiating hands shouted blatantly at my face

4:55 ..

And another pang of insomnia .. amidst all the snoring sleep-oholics, I stand apart. I wonder .. what keeps me awake as the mind is unusually numb .. thoughtless In a meek voice, I ask if anyone else is up .. and Harshit is .. and a slight movement on Samar’s side. Hmm, atleast I have company …

But the moment I realize the awake human presence in the room, both of them as if by a stroke of cosmic conspiracy, got up in a breath and blink and were ready to leave … with a slightly-senti last-goodbye !

A bleak light coming from the crack of the ajar-door .. blurred by the rain drops .. intermittently caressing the light as they fell .. woke me up from a fitful slumber. And I glanced at the wall again .. in a hope to have spent some time sleeping .. but its hardly been twenty minutes.

Perched on the couch browsing through the channels .. .. hunh .. !?

Who is the old man .. what is he doing in all the blood ..

He just sat there .. thought-less .. gnawing absently at the piece of bread .. drops of blood dripping from it .. was he a cannibal .. was it a sin .. the human blood drenched piece of bread ..

I was there too .. I could feel metal .. taste the bittery acrid cold .. metal in my system ..

And I see myself as if in a mirror or a separate world .. with the finger on the trigger .. the death the finger tip ..

And whamm !

I was drenched with sweat .. even in the Conditioned Air ..

Shivering with fear ..

It was just a dream .. Was it ?