I’m associated with humans, mostly. Ever since the first man came to this earth. All I do is Visit them in their sleep. Throughout the centuries I have seen and observed their behaviours. I have heard their thoughts and took away their nights, only to either destroy their mornings or to make them beautiful. Visiting them when they have drifted off to a different world and exploring their deepest secrets – some of them are dangerous ones, mind you – and confusing them is quite fun.
Humans are fascinating creatures, I must say.
My job used to be simple back then. People saw less, talked less, heard less. But they became complicated as they evolved. I became more complicated. It didn’t matter much though. My work went on well. I entertain and also get entertained. Craziest things go on in people’s minds, I tell you. Lots of stories there.
So as long as you are awake and not expecting me, would you like to hear a story about a curious boy? Will you indulge me?
***
Some people try to follow me, some people ignore me, some just go on with their lives as if I don’t exist. Simon, however, didn’t belong to any of these categories. He neither tried to follow me nor ignored me. But he observed me, he studied me, he made me a part of his primary world. Worse, he tried to control me. And succeeded. That’s when things started changing. That’s when I started getting angry.
While other students were busy with Computer Organization, Algorithm Design and Microprocessors, Simon buried his nose into books that had nothing to do with his academics: Sigmund Freud, Friedrich Nietzsche, biographies of Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain and the like. He never visited the college library, but spent long hours in a local public library. And when he got tired of sitting there, he went to a nearby cafe with a book in his bag and a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He read a lot, he smoked a lot. The smell of coffee, books and cigarettes gave him a high that no drug could ever give.
And when confronted with the question of friends, Simon thought: having friends means wearing a mask made of vodka and rum. Wearing a mask means deflecting your ego. Then if you be yourself without wearing a mask, you won’t have any friends anyway. So what’s the point? The answer was always more reading, more coffee and more cigarettes. Also, when you spend all your time in libraries and cafes, alone, you don’t make any friends, do you?
Either way, it doesn’t make any difference to me. I have a job and doing it well is all I care about. I have strong worth ethics and I’m almost always punctual. But sometimes I miss a few people. There are two reasons for this: one, sometimes some people do so many things and have so many experiences that are physically and mentally debilitating, they shut their brains. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get in. Two, sometimes the work-pressure is so much, I can’t help giving them a miss. In Simon’s case, these two reasons somehow, maybe, coincided a lot that I failed to notice him.
Simon was just another client until I realized that his brain had a weird way of functioning. I visited him when he was asleep, at night, stayed with him for a few minutes and floated away. Later when he woke up in the morning and went about his business, he, to his surprise and dismay, realized me quite often. I didn’t visit him when he was awake, of course. But somehow my shadows travelled through a secret passage and found their way into his waking life.
Here’s how I act. I’m nothing but your reflection. I design myself based on your experiences, your feelings, the books you read, the movies you watch, the people you talk to, the things you think about and talk about. In a way, how messed up you are fuels my imagination. One night, when I visited Simon and meandered through his brain, I found a lot of colours and structures. I absorbed them all and got into action:
One-thirty in the night, two drunken thugs sitting on the footsteps of a closed bakery, a police jeep stopping in front of the bakery, a policeman getting off the jeep and talking to them, arguments, one of the thugs stabbing the policeman in the throat, the thugs running away...
I wanted to go on and on for another few minutes, but Simon somehow managed to break free and got up. Most people do this to me. It’s nothing new. I was about to float away when I heard his thought, ‘Hope it doesn’t come true again.’ Curious, I stayed and hovered around him. I wanted to know what he meant by ‘again’.
I found out the next day. He headed towards the bakery across the city at six-thirty in the morning. There was a huge crowd in front of the bakery and a lot of blood on the footsteps. Everything I had shown him in his sleep had come true.
***
He blamed me. He blamed himself, too. He was all right until the age of twelve, that is, until he realized that my alter ego and I clashed on a regular basis. He came up with a solution at the age of fifteen: avoid sleep, avoid me. Coffee and cigarettes helped him a lot. And books acted as a catalyst. He became an insomniac in the process.
There were times when I transformed my visits into disturbing and intriguing scenarios. Once there was a man sitting alone in the middle of a dark room. He sat on the floor with his eyes open and his arms folded across his chest. The image piqued Simon’s curiosity. It was when he started reading Sigmund Freud, the pretentious ass who taught the world how to interpret me.
Whatever they were, they all took form in real. It was as if Simon was reading the leaked Script of a movie. There were some funny visits that came true, too. Like a boy in his class trying to impress a girl by impersonating Ozzy Osbourne. But when you have been feeling guilty your whole life, you lose your sense of humour. Such trivial things didn’t disturb him much, but some ominous ones took him on a roller-coaster ride through the land of misery, guilt and depression.
One day, when he was ambling about in front of bookshelves in the library, sniffing the pages of old books every now and then, a tiny book with brown wrapper caught his attention. It was a book on how to control me. Didn’t I tell you humans were not simple anymore? They over-analyse everything, messing their brains in the process.
Simon spent about eight hours studying the book. He made points in his notepad and went to his favourite coffee shop. He drank espressos and smoked cigarettes, all the while going through his notes over and over again. He was smiling when he left the cafe.
***
That night he went to sleep early and tried the techniques he had learnt. He lay straight on his back and tried not to move and focus on my arrival. He managed to hold himself steady for half an hour, but moved his leg in his sleep and lost his focus. I didn’t visit him that day.
He failed again the next time. I visited him that night: a faceless young boy running away from a beast. Simon woke up disappointed. Giving up was not an option anymore. He tried again that night. And this time he managed to lie still for a long time and stay focussed. When sleep came he was as good as a corpse. I hovered around him and waited for the right time to invade. I waited for some more time, changed my decision and floated away.
The following day he did more than he thought he would. When I visited him I felt like he was waiting for me. It didn’t make any sense. But I had to do my job. I showed him a bunch of young men playing football in a big field. At one point the ball came to a short man. He was only twelve feet away from the goal post. There wasn’t any other player around him. He had ample time to kick the ball into the net. And here’s the catch. I wasn’t going to let him. He would fall down. But he wouldn’t make an attempt to get up and kick the ball. He would stay on the ground for the rest of the game, feeling awful. The end.
Everything went on according to my script. But when the man fell down, something shook me off my senses. Simon was trying to change the script. My script. The man tried to get up to kick the ball. I was seething with rage. I tried to push him back on the ground, but Simon held my hand, twisted it and kicked me hard in the gut. I floated around in his mind, twisting and turning as I did, and got lost in the maze of his thoughts.
Simon succeeded in helping him kick the ball into the net. He humiliated me. But I was willing to let it go. It’s the nature of humans to find something that is new and exciting, linger with it for some time, get bored, and move on to find something else to scratch their hearts and brains. Simon would do that, too, I thought.
I was wrong.
***
Simon made it a habit to fight me. Agreed he had a curse. But what angered me was that he tried to control me even when my script was all nice and poetic. A pretty girl showing interest in him, for instance. Now what’s wrong with this script? He tried to change even that. He changed the dialogues and the ending.
I had had enough. I had to put an end to this. He changed my scripts and felt like God. He tipped off the police about the soon-to-happen crimes. Sure, it was a great thing to do. But it wasn’t my concern. What happens in the outside world is none of my business. Criminals are my clients, too. I can’t take sides here.
The plan to stop his nonsense was simple. I transformed myself into Simon and visited him. The doors of his little hut were already open. I entered and built a room similar to the one he was sleeping in. Then, I went and lay down and closed my eyes and started to drift away to eternal sleep. Towards the final destination. I expected resistance, but there was nothing. It didn’t make any sense. He didn’t fight me this time. I was already halfway through. If he wanted to do something, it was now. But he just let me be. As seconds passed, the lights inside his mind started going off one by one. My visit was over. I left.
Morning never found him.
***
I don’t know why Simon didn’t fight me that night. I was only trying to warn him. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know whether he let me be on purpose or forgot to fight me or was just too tired to try anything. I know I am not responsible, but I can’t stop feeling guilty.
I will always remember that visit. Not that I want to, but it’s a reminder. One of the few things that my job has taught me is that one can never fathom the human mind. Either ways, duty calls now. It goes on. Till eternity.
I’m going to come for you tonight. Are you ready?
********************The End********************
Copyright © Karthik 2014
