The Dreadful Delusion

Maverick woke up with a start, a sudden scream escaping out of his parched mouth. Hundreds of small beads of perspiration had formed on his forehead, which slowly trickled down to his brows and shone under the minuscule light coming through the gap in the wooden window. His face was pale and the eyes had a terrified look. The same old blood-curdling vision was back to haunt him again.

At that moment everything seemed all fuzzy and dizzy. His heart was beating hard and loud and the senses had seemed to have intensified. However, nothing seemed to bother him at that point, not even the irritating sound of the water leaking out of that old rusty tap, or the bed that creaked dangerously with the shift in the weight of his limbs. He was staring straight at the wall in front of him. It had sheltered his family from the sun and wind and rain for decades, but the unrelenting resilient fellow was wearing out. It had developed fissures and the lime mortar had peeled off giving way to the rough grey cement in patches.

What if the world we see is an illusion—and that our dreams an impression of reality.

Suddenly, a car screeched past the window. The loud piercing sound sent shivers to the already scared Maverick. Curious, he hunched his body to the right and opened the latch to the window. There was an abruptly parked car out on the street, and strangely enough, in that pitch dark and ghastly quiet night, the man had let the headlights on. Unable to spot anyone, Maverick moved a far little too much and stumbled down the bed onto the floor with a loud thud. He fell to his sides and thankfully, there wasn’t any injury to regret. And just when he was about to shake himself up, his eyes went up the wall—again.

But this time, he spotted something different. The change in the angle and the illumination from the car outside depicted those blemishes in an altogether different light. He moved closer; he looked deeper. And sighted into those edges that familiar grin—the devilish creature with a sly smile on his face. It was all very prominent. Very noticeable. Three days and three nights he had kept himself awake. To avoid this nightmare. To avoid leering frighteningly at that monster holding a stained knife in one hand and a decapitated head in another. The head that had the same eyes and nose and face and hair. The head that looked like his own. The head that was his own.

What if being asleep also means awakening to life—or death!

A striking reminder of his dream, the head kept on dripping blood—one drop at a time. The monster with the fiery red eyes kept grinning all the time as the drops took wing like a house on fire and came down in a rapid succession. It was like Maverick had been nailed down to the point of nothingness as he watched the drops become a stream of blood under which people were drowning. To his wildest horror, they were his family, his mother and father and brothers. He could hear their cries, feel their agony, watch helplessly at their futile attempts to save themselves. He peered as they choked on his thick blood, burst into tears as their head went down and then came up for the final time. “Don’t,” he sobbed. “Don’t go, please!” he cried.

Why does it feel so real? Have you ever given a serious thought to reversing the concept of imagination? What if the world we see is an illusion—and that our dreams an impression of reality. Is it possible that there are split personalities existing in ourselves, each being dominant in their own sphere? What if being asleep also means awakening to life—or death!

Why do I have this terrible feeling that I myself am a calamity to the people I love the most? Am I that deplorable a person? What if you had got me wrong all this while? The things that I’ve fed to you all this while weren’t what you thought it to be—will you forgive me?

The Saviour

The thing about your first true love is that you can’t really forget them. There are times that you’ll be engrossed in the distractions that this world will offer you, but all it requires is a mere mention of her name. The heart skips a beat, the air suddenly stands still, and a helpless smile escapes your face. That tiredness in your eyes, that longingness with which you stare into the void after that—That’s beyond love!

Reading through the lines, the words, the letters, and the tiny spaces existing between the many troubled thoughts of great scholars, there was this only one true gem that I could uncover in an ocean of oysters: To become a good writer, one’s got to bleed; to write even better, bleed profusely.

Staring endlessly at the green board, little did our stupefied Mav know that an year later, those pretty eyes would look at him again

Well, that’s what Maverick has been doing until now—seeking pleasure in all of his sufferings. He would plunge deep into his life to uncover one silly reason that would keep him awake the whole night. Yes, there were tragedies that had made him a vagabond. Yes, he was running from familiarity, from the routine life and from the things that he has become accustomed to. Yes, he never wanted to settle and couldn’t really figure out what he wanted in his life; but how silly of him—the ignorant fellow couldn’t fathom how a tender soul crept into his lamenting heart and slowly, with her pure and selfless love, changed his approach towards life.

She is beautiful. Very beautiful. She is the morning you wake up to a nightingale’s chirp and the night you sleep gazing at the stars high above; she is the one sublime spring and the alluring autumn. She is the wisdom you would listen to, and the cries you would kiss and soften. But the best part about her remains untouched: she’s delicate—a sensitive smooth comely fragile being that is selfless in her own disposition. You wonder how our Mav met this divine creature!

Well, it was the summer of 2015. When the world was striking a deal on climate change, there was something else happening at an off-campus college in the University of Delhi.

It was just another morning in the city of dreams. Right after attending his first class, our boy was rushing to the canteen through the several vibrant classrooms—and many a student rambling the corridors—down the stairs, jumping two at a time. Maverick was in a hurry to attend his next class. A gush of wind swept across his face and sent his shampooed hair in disarray as he opened the door leading outside the three-storeyed building. He walked briskly out in the open ground cursing the dry wind under his breath. Six stairs up, and the next moment, he found himself in the canteen.

She’s delicate—a sensitive smooth comely fragile being that is selfless in her own disposition

He stood at the door staring at the new and familiar faces for a second. Suddenly, someone called out his name. Maverick turned to his left to find his school friend, a junior, waving frantically at him. He smiled and walked up to her slowly. It was only after the formal handshake that she introduced him to her friend: Elena.

Just when he heard the name, the boy jumped up beaming in surprise. “Like Elena Gilbert?” he enquired while extending his hand forward. “Oh, yes!” she replied with equal excitement. Just then, when these two blessed souls were staring into each other’s eyes, the stars in the heaven were perfectly aligned next to each other. There was this unsettling gleam in her eyes and a certain appeal that made Maverick stay a bit longer than he had planned for. But then, he had to leave for his class.

Staring endlessly at the green board, little did our stupefied Mav know that an year later, those pretty eyes would look at him again and she would smile like a pure selfless angel, laugh uncontrollably at his stupid jokes, and share a bond so deep that even the oceans would be ashamed to give their measure.

To my Saviour.

The Introspection

Hey buddy,

It’s been long since I’ve seen you. I’m sorry, but the last month had been very busy. I had delved deep into the history to bring out my former self—the always cheerful bud who would just laugh out at anything; the bringer of smile and an optimistic mortal who was fooled into believing that it’s the manner in which you respond to a particular situation that makes all the difference, the approach that could even turn a calamity into a blessing. Thanks much, Robin! But I couldn’t handle the positive overdose.

Some 250 kms away from the noise and pollution and the fast moving metro life, Maverick was sitting on a concrete bench gazing at the hills to his left. He was so lost in the lush green environment of Sattal that he forgot to sip coffee from the stainless steel mug he was holding between his fingers; and when the only vapour he could see were the ones coming out from his mouth, Maverick gently placed the mug by his side and went on to appreciate the beauty that had enthralled his senses.

There was something strange about the place, something familiar that reminded him of his home where even now, the rose bushes stood in front of his welcoming gate, whilst the violet vegetable grew beside the water tap. His grandfather still stares out from the window, waiting anxiously to hear the sound of his younger son calling out to him, which sadly, never came in the last ten years. He would attentively read the mythological tales in the afternoon, but with the faintest sound outside, his hopeful heart would force his gaze, but all they see are the desolated path of mud and bricks.

His mother, on the other hand, would often wake up with a smile on her face. She would tell Maverick stories of how a guardian angel was watching over them. But now, the boy has grown up and gone to a distant land. There is a few exchange of emotions, but in their heart, both acknowledge his presence and many a time, pay that anonymous divine soul a visit in their dreams.

Meanwhile, at the altitude of 1,370 m, a westerly wind gently caressed Maverick’s face. Though he had never set foot in the mountains, the air seemed to be calling out his name, carrying a scent that he had known for long. Out of curiosity, he looked into that direction and through the twigs and the leaves—colored in shades of yellow and green—he saw a tree unlike any other on the hills. While the rest were slanted perpendicular to the gradient, this one never yielded; it stood magnificently straight in all weathers. The rays of the sun danced merrily upon its branches and through the leaves, the bright orange and yellow filtered out into a thousand fragments.

It was only when the magical rays fell upon his face that he realised that he had been looking at his life all wrong. Ever since he took his first step, he was talked into being happy, oh! they even named him so that he wouldn’t forget.

If you think only happiness is euphoric, think again! Ask a man who had his first heartbreak. Ask him about the empty walks he takes after midnight; ask those warm tears running down his face; ask those sudden shrieks, the crazy dance under the shower; ask his silence, his sudden lack of company; ask why he vows never to fall in love again; or, in some case, to fall and get hurt again. Ain’t these blissful?

Talking about experience, playing a casanova was a better deal than falling in love. With each new face came the same story; new indulgences, same consequences. Lost and tired, Maverick finally called a truce with destiny.