Part 5 – Slaver’s nightmare
Flashes of red and flashes of blue might mean jack shit to you, but for me it meant that I was about to fall down unconscious. Over the years, it has happened quite a few number of times. When I dozed off in the office, I dreamed of having written a book named, ‘Preeti’ and right after that, when I woke up, I had met a girl named Preeti and fallen in love with her even before I had the chance to know her name. These dreams, too, happen quite a few number of times, and when they are confirmed in reality (as it happened today when I met Preeti), the sudden blast of uncertainty usually knocked my mind unconscious. And so, after two flashes of red and one final flash of blue, my knees buckled and I fell down, the world went black after that.
When I opened my eyes, my mind desperately hoped to see Preeti, but it was my teammate, sprinkling water on my face. His pudgy face was towering over me and I couldn’t see much else.
‘I am alright’, I said and woke up. The four interns were standing like a couple of interning nurses in a hospital behind my teammate. Preeti stood in the center, her face showed no sign of anything, as did the face of the other three interns, they were just observing and absorbing everything they saw.
And so, the KT was cancelled for now and I went with my teammate to get myself some coffee. The interns stayed back in the room as that was their work space for the next few months until they converted full time. Brewing my some coffee, and getting me seated near a corner with a superb vista from the 29th floor, my teammate left me to fetch some Glucon-D to help me get back on my feet, despite my repeated declination.
Enjoying the silence of the floor (the others were heading down for lunch), I sipped my coffee and stared as far as the horizon could stretch, a few tall hills dotted the blue sky in the distance and everything else was concrete. I did not feel hungry but something itched in my tummy and I knew I couldn’t quench it with just food, it was hunger for something else. I put on my ear phones, and played the first YouTube recommendation on my phone, it was a video of a poem recital. The poem was ‘If’ by Rudyard Kipling and the silence was broken by these first words,
‘If you can keep your head, when all about you are losing theirs…’
My mind was gripped by the voice of the narrator, and I wanted to listen more. I remembered having read this poem in school, but I hadn’t paid much heed back then.
‘…and blaming it on you.’
‘If you can trust yourself, when all men doubt you,’
‘But make allowance for their doubting too…’
I sat back and sank into my seat involuntarily. The coffee was fizzling its heat away while I was just getting warmed up. I remembered a particular day during my undergrad, I had just been kicked out of the class for sleeping during it, and so sitting on the steps of our quadrangle, I had begun writing the first few lines of what was to become my first self-published novel. There was fire on my fingertips back then, the keys on the keyboard reeled after each smacking, and I could, if I wanted to, summon my monster and the monster would come out and write stories on my laptop.
I zipped back into the present and tuned into the poem playing in my ears,
‘If you can dream—and not make dreams your master.’
‘If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim…’
I went back again to the day I finished writing the novel which had started out as an impromptu writing exercise six months ago on those steps. The novel was ready, I had not researched for it, I had not planned for it, I had not even plotted for it, yet I had in a trance, produced a 250 page novel. I knew, or so I assumed, that I would find no luck in having it published with a big publisher, and so without even trying to reach out to them, I went ahead and published the book myself and put in on Amazon Kindle. It got a good first response and it was on the Amazon Top New Arrivals section for a few days and then it sunk to the bottom promptly after my friends stopped hyping it.
Back to the poem,
‘…If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster.’
‘And treat those two impostors just the same.’
Back to my thoughts, I was now a self published author and I felt a tang bit proud about it. But very soon, something strange happened, which is I forgot all about it and I stopped writing all together. As mysteriously as that urge to write had come on those steps, it had now disappeared and the only thing I wrote were insincerely answered exam papers in my college.
Back to the poem,
‘If you can make one heap of all your winnings,’
‘And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,’
Somebody disturbed me, I turned to see who, and it was Preeti. I removed my earphones and managed to put on a half hearted smile, I did not like being disturbed when I was having good flow of thoughts, but because it was Preeti, a half smile was the least I could offer.
‘How do you feel?’ She asked.
For a moment, I did not answer, her voice, her voice was so smooth and sweet that it cut through my heart like a hot knife cuts through Amul butter. I knew I could take all the time in the world to reply to her, for I knew (assumed) she would be with me for life. After an awkward few seconds of silence I said,
‘I am fine. Thank you.’ Having said that, me being me, I put on my earphones and abruptly turned to stare back at my vista. I guess she must have been weirded out, and might have left after that, I did not see. It’s alright, I thought, I have all the time in the world to explain to her who I am.
The poem was still playing, and it ended with these lines,
‘If you can fill the unforgiving minute,’
‘With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,’
‘Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,’
‘And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!’
And the video ended and silence reigned once again. Things became a little clear. I was getting thoughts which my masters hoped their slaves never got. First, I had to convince Preeti, who did not even know my name yet, to quit her internship for good. On that note, I began plotting our escape from the 29th floor.
Part 6 is out!
