I’m a happy day dreamer. This isn’t only because the Moon happened to be in the friendly neighbourhood of Pisces when I was born, but also because I can’t dream at night. And my dreamless nights are a result of my owl eyes that refuse to shut from 12 am to 4 am. Those who know me are probably aware that I’m a wee bit of an insomniac. Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy and wide awake! It’s as if a clock in my body ticks off when the hour is “right”.
After much deliberation about these traits of mine, all between 12 am and 4 am, I’m beginning to wonder this is probably because I’m the chosen one. Although exactly WHO’s chosen me and for WHAT will still need many more sessions of pondering from 12 am to 4 am, “forces of the dark” weigh high on my list of probable culprits. Isn’t my candidature to accomplish their chores obvious, considering that I’m anyway up when they are up and about? All I need is an eerie shrill in my already loud laugh. I should then do well as one of “them”. So “they” must be thinking. And therefore they must have carefully planned and started my “preparatory” phase years ago, when I was little.
Part of this “training” may have been my inexplicable fascination with witches. As a child, ignoring my faint heart, I had fostered a secret (and only) desire of spotting a witch some day. And spotting one right behind my house would have resulted in sheer ecstasy. I don’t know why. It maybe because that would have given me the feeling of nestling right amid the objects of my admiration: the wicked old witches! Their dusty brooms, pointed hats, pointier noses, dirty long nails and toothless smiles … I would have given an arm and a leg for a glimpse of any of these. At the start of summer vacation, one year during school days, I woke up excitedly, dressed up neatly and headed to the bookstore. There, I rummaged through the heap of books about fairies, giants, dwarfs, princes and princesses to pull out one that became my prized possession for many years thereafter. Not surprisingly, the cherished one had to bear a title as alluring as “The Girl Who Wanted To Be A Witch”! Now you must think what became of me when I grew up. The one word answer to that is: nothing! I mean, nothing abnormal. That’s because, gradually, my witch-ful desires started making way for the more normal ones. This may not have gone down well with the forces of the dark. Their hard work of many years may have been on the verge of becoming futile. It is then that they may have responded to the need of the hour and devised irritating plans of robbing sleep off my nights.
Little do they know that sleepless nights or sleepy ones, I’m not joining any army of the dark! Obviously, morality and goodness and their entire ilk stop me from turning to evil. Of course I’d like to believe that! But my fear of the dark also has a key role to play in stopping me from joining the Ghastly Gangs of Ghostville. They may lure me with witches and keep me awake in the night, but how will they deal with my chattering teeth and shuddering during their meetings in the dark? It’s like a smack in their faces! Let them do all they can, very fearfully (yet triumphantly, if you see it the other way round) I’ll eschew nocturnal adventures to stare at the ceiling from 12 am to 4 am. And now I’m even getting creative with my time in the night. These days I’ve started walking up to the window to stare at the outside. Just the other day I counted about 100 leaves on the tree there. In all, I’ve come to believe that in some cases where the mind is full of fear…creativity is the happy consequence!