At 1:18 in the night, I notice the setting around me – a laptop in front of my eyes, a concrete roof over my head, four side walls around, that look sleeping-beauty-purple in color, a warm bed that’s bearing my weight so gently, a pillow that’s pressing me from behind by back and some soft yellow sheets curled up against my legs. I feel a dim light that I once came to know is made up of gazillions of photons, spilling them all around very selflessly, for me. I’m comfortable.
My family is probably peacefully asleep in their respective rooms downstairs and the thought brings a nervous smile on my face- my loving parents and a genius little brother who, time after time reminds me of all the things I regret missing out on when I was his age. I’m blessed.
I love the weather – it’s the kind which makes me want to stand on my naked toes in the balcony as the chilling breeze whizzes by, which then makes me want to scoot up back under my yellow sheets again. I feel alive.
It almost feels like a deliberate attempt by some force at making me feel this way as I take pride in watching the world unfold in my favor.
I’m so indulged scanning my realm that it took me a while to take notice at the face value of what I thought was “my” world all this while. I wonder if the existence of this setting determines mine. I wonder if what I see is only pleasing and rewarding or the cause itself of my being a part of it.
I suddenly feel like an outsider. I am reminded of the times when this bed was not so warm and welcoming. It brings jitters to me when I am reminded of the times when my parents fought for hours on end and I could do nothing more than locking myself up in this very room and crying helplessly; and the walls didn’t seem so Disney-purple then. I am reminded of the scorching sun back in school days that drew all my energy off as I walked my way from classrooms to the school bus and so the weather didn’t seem so pleasant then.
I close my eyes, take a breath and then erupts in my head, Robin Williams’ dialogue from the movie ‘Dead Poets Society’ — “to quote from Whitman, ‘O me! O life! ..of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of this faithless.. of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?’ Answer. That you are here – that life exists and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”
If something kills me right off, nothing really really changes except for my existence. After reeling from my disappearance from their lives, my family will sleep peacefully someday again; the walls of my room will be the same shade of purple, the softness of my bed and my pillow will be intact and the weather will be the same in the next fall.
I’m here, not to feel alone but to act; to choose a role that I find meaningful to this powerful play going on and act..
..because the play goes on and I must contribute a verse.