Nocturnal

It’s 10^th June, 2013.

A Monday.

It’s 11.

I’m back from work.

I throw my bag on the bed.

Change into my night clothes.

Which are just clothes. Not really made for the night.

I wash my legs.

Walk into the kitchen, looking for something to munch on.

I come out disappointed.

I set my bag aside, on the chair next to the bed.

I jump onto my bed.

I switch on the TV.

It’s 12.

I’m still lying on the bed.

Watching a Jackie Chan movie.
"Who am I?" The movie.

For the 23^rd time.

I’m not bored.

Not yet.

Haven’t flipped the channel.

Not because I’m not bored.

Because, the remote is too far away.

I’ll pick it up the next time I get up searching for something to munch on.

It’s 1. In the morning.

I get up from the bed, searching for grub.

Disappointed. Again.

I gulp down a bottle of water.

Step out for a smoke.

Carefully, before I light up one cigarette, I look around.

For neighbours.

For late-working husbands.

For socialite Gujaratis, coming back from a wedding or some other function.

No one should catch me smoking here.

I don’t care.

But, it’d be weird to be caught here.

Right outside my building is fine.

But, not on the floor you stay in.

I light one.

It’s a strange kick that I get out of it.

It’s a good feeling to be smoking at night.

I have two, instead.

I step back inside.

Wash my hands, and my face.

I should not smell of cigarettes.

My Dad has a hound’s nose.

He can smell it all.

I jump onto the bed.

I realise, I have forgotten to take the remote.

Lethargy rules me over.

I fight it.

I get the remote.

It’s 2.

The channel has been changed.

It’s football time.

55 minutes into the game.

A second division premier league game is being played.

Bradford City – Milwall FC.

2 – 2, the score.

Milwall FC comes close to scoring.

I wanted them to score.

There were too many twos.

The time. The score.

Two people sleeping in my bedroom. Mom & Dad.

I had smoked two cigarettes, back then.

Too many twos.

I smoked one more cigarette.

Just to break the cyclical manner of the twos rolling out that night.

I hate repetitive things.

Let me repeat myself, I hate repetitive things.

I step back inside.

I didn’t feel good smoking the third.

It was uncalled for.

I step back inside.

I see my Mom staring at me through her groggy eyes.

She must have gotten up.

I tell her that I was on a phone call.

Why not inside the home, she asks.

No network, I reply.

I try to fool her.

I don’t even have the phone with me.

She doesn’t say anything.

She goes back into the bedroom.

I leave a huge sigh of relief.

I gulp down one more bottle of water.

I jump onto the bed.

It’s 2:30.

I’m watching the last few minutes of the match.

I don’t realise that Dad walked in from behind the curtains.

I look at him, and get back to watching the match.

He reminds that it’s a Wednesday.

Says that I have work tomorrow.

I nod.

He goes back into the bedroom.

It’s 3.

My eyes blink.

Once.

Twice.

The match is over.

2 – 2, the final score.

Good match.

I’m browsing through the channels.

I stop at yet another movie.

One of my favourites.

Sherlock Holmes. A Game Of Shadows.

It’s halfway through.

I’ve watched it twice before.

The third time beckons.

My eyes blink.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

I shake my head vigorously.

Stand up from the sleeping position.

Continue watching the movie.

It’s 4.

The movie is over.

My eyes are wide open.

I browse through the channels.

Looking for something good.

Nothing exciting in the idiot box.

I pick out my iPad.

The TV is still on.

Scroll through a couple of pages on the tablet.

Temple Run 2.

I play it.

Try to beat my top score.

I’m not able to.

I decide on having a smoke.

I get bored to have one.

I walk out. Still.

Have 1/4^th of it.

Throw it away in frustration.

I walk back inside.

Jump onto the bed.

Stare at my iPad.

Switch off the TV.

Switch off my iPad.

Switch off the lights.

It’s 4:30.

How do I know?

The clock struck once.

It strikes once when it’s half past any hour.

1:30, 2:30, 3:30, etc.

It’s 4:30 now.

So, I know.

I’m not sleepy.

I close my eyes.

Forcibly.

One of those times when I think ‘force’ is good.

I stare at the fan for 5 minutes.

I stare at the wall for 5 minutes.

I stare at the shadows for 5 minutes.

It’s 4:45.

My eyes start growing heavier.

I sit up on my bed.

Rub my face, and slam my back against the bed.

I’m off to sleep.

This is just one night. The 10^th of June.

The other nights follow in almost the same manner.

And, the days follow in an even abrupt fashion.

Nocturnal agony.
Can’t say more.