Neurasthenia – i

Great Expectations. Chasing Time. Hurried Life. Neon Lights.

Closes eyes. It’s sunrise or sunset. Waves playing melody to my ears. Under a black and white lens, I can see all the shades of her skin. The feature of her nose, her eyes, hair flying tuned to the rhythm of the breeze.

No more ads, no more noise. The clutter of information far in the distance now. Grains of sand my friends, they give me company watching her embrace the winds, soak up the weakening sunlight. Black and white is all grey. The divide between fast life and gradual real life.

No more hollowness, dissatisfaction due to a perception that others are living ‘that’ life where they have it all. This is a sense of completeness. Having nothing in my hands but the strands of her hair. Makes me feel superior, full, satisfied, glowing and at peace. Contrast it with the feeling two years back, trying to get out there and reach it..silly me. Life’s like some traveller show in a beach with white house and a white sailing boat and beautiful partner walking on white sands.

Great expectations to become that figment of our imaginations.

“..This intense burning desire you have..” She says. On the part of common people to become millionaires, or merchant princes, or railroad kings, or something beyond their powers and opportunities, where no hero rules, she has lived that silly life. Netted brassier, doing the jive, shaking her hips slow to the beat, inviting me into her comfort zone where everything zaps out.

“Welcome to the limbo land.” I try to tease her.

“No this is not that.”

Driven by our aspirations, imaginations, thoughts and information, everything explosive by nature and here we are stilled and silenced.

“This is what the world needs.” I tell her. A gradual push of her hands and we are back underneath our purple sheets. The sun shines through the glass.

“I love this rhythm. It’s the beat of this soil.” I tell her.

Far away from the modern sickness of neurasthenia.

The lovely but silent barren hills have something to give. I turn my head up embracing the gentle warmth of the sun, looking over the sky in all its discipline, leaving all the flutters and mutters to us humans. As she sleeps on the sands of this beach, a lady sings atop a mountain nearby a long forgotten lore. Soon the sun will set. The silent mountains fascinate me.

‘A little stroll and I’ll be there.’ I think to myself. The sweetness in her voice is evident, like the sweet and tangy pulp of a ripe orange.

This is the setting, this is that holiday. This is the day everything starts on a lotus leaf, a little boy floats in the silent sea before me, in the midst of strong waves, when she comes from the far above, in the sky adored with all kinds of exotic jewels one could think of, reminding the boy on the leaf of who he is. This is the setting.