Unnamed

This is unnamed. Not necessarily it has any possible existence in the universal world of being present. How many of us have known the truest; and when I say truest, I meant the supreme truth that defines the being of oneself from the bottom of the parallel galaxy to be present and the accuracy of truth to be 100 %?Rational and still seems like irrational. It may be thought, maybe not. I laughed into the grave of the beliefs of the modest of men. What is it worth of living, when the hardest part of life is to take a breath and that too is for granted? Do we have a reason or do we have a purpose? Nevertheless, we, the shameless character of mother earth are taking in consideration for living in the modest of the environment. What is it that I’m trying to write? Can I literally tell you what I meant? I guess so but I believe not. Just understand it this way; I’m trying to write what the unnamed is or what no one can explain. What a fool of being me for trying to explain you what is not even considered in this world? None of you wanted to read it and I’m still writing it. May be it’s just a matter of killing my time in between.

Let me start with my name. My name is … oh! To hell with my name and even if someone read it, you wouldn’t bother to keep in mind what I’m doing and most importantly; who I am. I am who you think I am but still I think I’m not the one who you think I am but I am who I believe I really am. I don’t mean to torture your eyes for seeing the things I write and your brains for minor strains of irritation. I am absent in my present. And my present is absent. I might be long time dead but who’s writing these words. A magical force?Am I dead or still do I have nerves?Obsolete as it may seem and recalling the prior ones, useless and avoidable.

The alarm rang and I woke up. The outside temperature is below 10°Celsius. Now, I reckon it to be some sort of dream and precisely a nightmare. What did I saw?

It’s been almost a couple of hours that I’m trying to recall what I saw but there’s too much pressure within me now. I don’t know what I saw and I’ve been horrified even after a couple of hours I saw it. Practically, dreams don’t have any meaning in my life. And now I think they are starting to make a major impact in my life. The only thing I know is that I had a dream which terrified me and I don’t even know why.

I am not sarcastic. It’s been a couple of months I’ve been seeing nightmares. Every morn when I wake up, I could recall my dreams. No, not kidding; I really do. The actual reason for seeing them and the meaning it beholds. But this one is different of them all. I saw something and I don’t know what it was. Nightmares never do fright me that much and even after two hours, my heart is aching and beating at a uniform pace and isn’t going down.

I might get a heart attack. The series of nightmares; what does it resembles? What does this abstract dream mean? What has it to do with my future and most importantly; why me?

Am I a psychological patient needing immediate psychological attention? I’m not sure and until I consult one, I’d hardly have any idea.If I approach some psychic, I might get brainwashed and the psychological method s/he use would definitely hit me. I might get down and before I could even realize it, life would be a disaster. So, for the meantime, I’d keep it within myself my problems and phenomenon. 

The winter has arrived with its fierce touch, being an extremist in its nature. The nature is dry leaving habitat to moisture less. I could feel scars on my face each day I wake up and see the mirror. But it doesn’t really matters to me.As long as the blood flows through my vessels, I’m all good to survive and my best struggle would be a survival for existence. As long as I keep it strong and to myself, I’m good to go.

BBC world news service was on everywhere I go. I browse it on my phone if I was away for some reasons. I tried to get myself updated as reasonably as I could. The world is fast and furious and I should at least be able to know what’s going on throughout the world. May it be the end of Saddam Hussein or it is the death of Michael Jackson, information was all I needed.

I tried to keep myself social being present in some social functions but as always, I was lost within myself. Sometimes, I wanted to breakthrough. The reason was I being sarcastic among the group of normal happy people. I’m not a pessimist but my perspective of life always turns to be slightly pessimistic. But the fact is I am an obsolete optimist. I reckon my father used to say that life is full of ups and downs. I don’t know what he meant. I mean how I would possibly know about it when I was just about 8. In fact, I’m not supposed to know about it at all. Not at least at that age. Dad used to say, ’Go on boy have some fun, play with kids of your age.’ And like a normal child, I’d go to the fields to play with the kids of my age. I was mischievous from the early childhood. I used to fight with them most of the times. And somehow, most of the kids were afraid of me. They’d be nice to me just to stay out of the trouble. When the sun goes down and every kids go back home, I’d stand and stare at the empty fields which was recently harvested for rice. I was recalling my dad saying, ’Go on boy have some fun, play with kids of your age.’ He’d often say that when he looked sad. I could still feel the strange look in his face but I could hardly realize what he meant. I just knew that something was not going well in my family.

I was satisfied but not happy. And I was not happy coz I was not satisfied. Either ways, life was nearly average. May be this is how it was meant to be.

One day, dad wrote something in his diary. May be it was a poem, maybe it was nothing at all. The words were something I couldn’t understand at all. It was written as;

In the furnace of a cold night,

The candle light went by.

Under the agony of the present,

This carcass burnt; no fire

On the shallow emptiness of hope,

Hollow faith lingers.

Life resisting hard on melancholy,

The tornado stood standby.

On the indistinguishable funeral fire of hope,

The breathe I owe, kept decomposing.

In the furnace of a cold night,

The candle light went by.

Under the agony of the present,

This carcass burnt; no fire

I don’t knew what he meant by writing that but something was extremely wrong. At least, I could sense that.

At home in the evening, I was playing with my siblings. Sometimes it was song competition, sometimes it was a fierce battle between what we wanted and what we didn’t get or simply what one was not privileged to. One evening, after the day’s play, I returned home at almost 6. It was pretty dark and the time was scheduled to load shedding. This is one of the depressing part; a load shedding schedule every year in winter even though we live in one of the richest country of water resources. My sisters were doing their daily assignment of the school and I being lazy don’t want to do quite often. I was free most of the time so I was wondering how to kill my time with. I saw mom at the kitchen preparing the supper and dad was not home yet. No television and entertainment was a scarcity. I wanted to play and I have no one to play with. I was trying to convince my sibs to accompany me for the meantime. It was an obvious no. I had a fight with them when I tear one of their assignment papers being furious for not letting me enjoy my time together. They complained me to mom and she tried to comfort me and asked me to apologize. I, being stubborn denied. The result was that I was locked in the living room with just a candle and nothing to do with. I was very much alone. I wander around the room to get myself engaged with and I could find nothing. In an old wooden cupboard, at the last cabinet, I found an old book which was red. Red was the color I admired ever since I was a child. Red is a symbol of energy and I was enslaved by it power. Without delay, I decided myself to get busy with the book. The book was a collection and compilation of contemporary literature of the late 90s. I was sure about that I would not ever understand a single word in it. As I went through page by page, word by word, I get a glimpse of a strange feeling of discomfort. I was still and silent in moments. Though I didn’t understand it, it quickly left an impact. I was reading something for the first time with inquisitiveness. Didn’t know when the mercury glowed and when the candle went off. I was almost lost within the world of words and imagined myself to be a poet who’s about to win a Noble Prize in literature. The door opened and my dad was in a furious temperament. But I didn’t realize it at all. I was busy reading. Dad came in and out of the room several times but I was there stoned in the world of the words.  I could only feel the intense silence between me and the environment. Suddenly, tears rolled by. No, I wasn’t crying at all. It was an outcome of prolonged exposure to the book. I was reading it without blinking my eyelids and the tension resulted in tears. When I turned back, I realized that my father was watching me. I believe he was staring me for quite some time now. I had an eye to eye contact with my dad for the first time and the strange thing was that I wasn’t afraid at all. Every time when I was with my dad, I had a strange feeling of discomfort full of fear. I wasn’t fearful this time. Dad was smiling at me. He sees my tears and my red eyes and even realized that I was reading one of his favorite books. The next moment I was terrorized. This feeling of fear suddenly came in my mind and I ran off.

‘Why was he smiling? Did I do anything wrong? I believe I wasn’t supposed to read his belongings.’ I was in the balcony of my house and I was expecting scolding’s from him. Mom called me for supper and we had our meal together. Even while I was eating, I secretly tried to see my dad’s face wondering if he was staring at me or if he’s about to scold me. But nothing happened. I was also terrorized by the fact that I tore my sister’s assignment paper. I believed that they had told everything to dad and in every forthcoming moment, I thought that my dad would be on top of his lungs yelling at me.  Strange but true! Nothing as such happened. Everything was peaceful. Dad finished the supper and went to his room and got himself busy with the 8’O clock news.

At around 10, my mom came to my room with a glass of milk for each of us. She gave me a glass and was about to leave when I called her.

‘Mom.’

‘Yes dear.’ She replied.

‘Is dad is in bad temperament?’ I asked

‘He was when he came but seems like he’s very happy now.’ She told me.

‘Did you tell her about me tearing the paper?’ I asked.

‘No not really. What did dad told you. He was happy to see you when he was here. What did you do?’ She inquired.

‘I ain’t got a clue. I thought I was about to get a tough time today,’I replied.

‘Seems like you made his evening and no hard time is coming to you. Complete your assignment and go to bed. You need to wake up early tomorrow.’ She commanded.

And like a good child, I did exactly how she asked me to do it.After some weeks, I finally realized that dad love poetry and literature. The only reason he spared me that day was due to the fact that I was doing one of his favorite things; poetry and literature as one day he handed me some books of poems. I was trying to read those books but I didn’t find my interest on those poems. Poems about country, birds, flowers and child. This was different to those I read in dad’s books. In the evening when dad would be home, I shall ask about it.

Dad was home at around 7 in the evening. And I was willing to talk to him. But somehow, I didn’t know how or what to say to start with.