The clock was striking three, and once again I could feel some stirring in my mind. Why do these thoughts create a havoc in my mind in the middle of the night? Why was the world turning topsy–turvy? Why was it bent on self-destruction? I headed towards the window, peered through the curtains, and looked at the wall fronting my room.
Someone wearing a black cloak was sticking posters on the wall, and freshly painted graffiti peered at me like a guilty conscience.
‘Time to mask up.’ The graffiti shone in the light of the lamppost.
Ha! My foot! Aren’t we wearing masks all the time? We never step out of the house without masks. There is no dearth of masks in our kitty. We have a mask for every occasion. But, why is the world losing its balance? Why are humans becoming inhuman?
“What we must do,
I suppose is to hope the world
keeps its balance.” I heard Mary Oliver whisper to me, and almost lost my balance as I heard something.
It was that omnipresent owl, hooting again.
Was it trying to cheer the graffiti- painters on, or squeezing itself into the room through my window? You never know what tricks these nocturnal creatures can be up to?
I could hear Xmas bells, and could imagine a roly- poly Santa Claus gearing himself for his most important role- that of bringing smiles on the faces of children.
I saw him.
Yes, I saw him sitting on a newly upholstered sofa, all dressed up in red, his cap a trifle askew. I almost had an urge to fix it.
“Ho – Ho – Ho,” he guffawed.
“Setting a cap right, cannot set the world right. What fools you humans be!”
He was sitting next to an old desk- top computer, sorting through handwritten mail- scribbles and doodles, his ruddy cheeks shining in the glow of the light that I had just switched on.
“I hear the sledges with the bells – silver bells.
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle in the icy air of night.”*
Ah, Edgar Allen Poe was again up to his old tricks, serenading me in the backdrop of the relentless hooting of the owl.
The owl was giving me ideas, the silver bells were giving me ideas, the sledges with the bells were giving me ideas, so I quickly collected them, and headed
towards the laptop.
The blank screen looked exppectanly at me, and I proceeded to fulfil its expectations.
I could hear the bells of the sledges in the distance, tinkling away in ‘the icy air of night.’
It reminded me that chilai Kalan* had set in my homeland Kashmir. The mercury in Srinagar and Pahalgam had fallen to minus 4.4 c and minus 6.2 c, and I imagined the shikaras on the Dal Lake masked in frost.
Masks, once again!
Masking the feelings that those cold images stirred in me, I slipped back into my quilt. The memory of those cold days of Kashmir, had filled me with a fuzzy feeling of warmth.
The owl outside continued to hoot, as I once again drifted into sleep- unmasked.
*The Bells, Edgar Allen Poe
*Chillai Kalan- the Kashmiri name for the 40-day period of harsh winter in Kashmir [From 21 December to January 29 every year].
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