Posts Tagged ‘headache’

Of love, regret, and misery…

April 25, 2016

I am not my own self tonight; feeling like a pressure on my temples.  I close my eyes, I try to think of you, I fail miserably.  Each time I close my eyes, I feel the headache all new again.

Why are you so much far away?  I think of that poem from Gitanjali:  “O fool! Try to carry thyself on thy own shoulders!  O beggar, to come beg at thy own door!  Leave all thy burden on his hands who can bear all, and never look back in regret.”

Why me?  I was a fool, but I did seek to leave all my burdens in your hands.  Never did I regret.  “Sab daagh haiN is dil mein, ba_juz daagh e nadaamat..”  Then.  Why.  Me.

Alone and lonely, I sit here waiting for a single glance of benevolence from you.  To bring me out of this misery.

Of an evening in December ’14

January 24, 2015

Exactly what were his thoughts he did not know. It was an evening, already getting dark out. He was hungry with little idea about what he would have for dinner. This was not very unusual for him. He had had many evenings like this. This evening was not a different one. He was just sitting doing nothing. “I’m having a little headache perhaps”, he thought, “but it doesn’t really feel like an ache. It’s more like something is stuffed pack in the skull and it’s making pressure from within.” It was not unusual.

He lay back for a while, rested his head on the pillow. Eyes closed. Trying to feel his breath. It was such a silence. A servile fan whirling above his head. His hunger was making a call.

“Why do I need to be so tense all the time?” he thought, but then he suddenly shirked off the thought and started staring at the fan. He was still not feeling alive enough to get up and get something to eat. “It’s just a waste of life”, he murmured. He could find no reason for anything he was making through.

Today, it’s place A. Tomorrow, it’ll be place B. He had no affinity to places, but these places grow up on one’s self. This cot crackles when he jerks off on it. These bed sheets and blankets and pillows – no, he doesn’t have any attachment to them. When he leaves them tomorrow, he won’t feel any sad, just a little hurried lest he couldn’t go if he makes it late. Then it would be an end. He would find another cot to jerk off on.

What was it that was holding him together so long, he wondered. He was not sure. He was not sure even if he was still held together or was already fallen apart. “I would save this question for some later date”, he said to himself. Was he afraid? Perhaps, he was. But what was it that would make him afraid; he was not sure. It was only an evening, not the end of world.

This will take him nowhere, he knew. But it was not that he was planning to go somewhere. He was content in standing where he was – but this goddamn headache or whatever! The evening was getting darker. Some kids are playing in the backyard downstairs – happy and yelling. They’ll get tired and go home and straight to the dinner table. Mother will ask them to wash hands and such. Good kids. Mama will hold them close and caress through their hair. Kids don’t have headaches.

It’s useless, he muttered. Why on the earth that it was those kids and their fathers and not him? He was not sure if their fathers had headaches or not, but he was sure they don’t jerk off at least. He knew happiness doesn’t come for free, but he was tired of this headache, this constant buzz he was holding in his skull for so long. Something was missing. It had been months since he had been in bed.

Song without a voice

May 31, 2014

He was struggling. Don’t know for how long, but for the past week – when he had been ill and lying in bed all the day and night – he had been struggling – not only with the fever and the vertigo it brought – but also for the something that was still elusive, still out of his reach. What was it that he took birth for? The thumping in his skull – which lingered even after the fever was gone – was somehow from his own pain.

“mera dard naghma e be_sadaa..”, he murmured. Faiz’s poem. My pain is a song without a voice. Why? Song? Without a voice? He again fell back into his headache – feeling awful like Gregor Samska.

Headache – or this feeling like pressure – like a lot is stuffed pack into the hollow skull – what? A song? Where’s the voice? He felt miserable, utterly miserable.

Many thought he was sad. Many others thought he should not be. But this song stuck in head finding no voice to come out, and not be sad? Not having a song is okay – you have a whole skull empty to fill with happiness, but now this something is not finding a way out – where to keep the happiness?

“What’s the default state of human mind?”, he again fell into a philosophy. Happiness? If it is, then I’m certainly not at equilibrium. Equilibrium.. the ability to see a coffee pot like a coffee pot..

“mere dard ko jo zubaa.n mile, mujhe mera naam o nisha mile..”, he was still not out of Faiz. If my pain gets a voice; I’ll get my own identity. His headache.. “mujhe daulat e dono.n jahaa.n mile..”, fever, falling asleep. I’ll get the worth of whole world.

The song, voiceless, kept thumping on the inner skull.

ASDFG QWERT

May 26, 2014

I need to do something. There has been a constant tickling going in my brain. I can actually feel some not-so-funny movement inside my skull. I must do something to make myself feel at peace. The problem is I don’t know what.

I am given some task. Now, I am not at all interested in doing it. I have a whole day to complete it. I know it will take much less time.

Perhaps, I am out of my mind. I think of something – then someone comes to disturb – then I look at the computer screen thinking what I was actually thinking. Yeah – remembered – must note it down before I forget it again.

Is this the same thing I am going to do all my life? – to wake up each day with a burden to somehow push it till the evening? This is not the way – certainly not..

Again, these disturbances, and this something pushing my brain out from within. This is not the way to live. But let it be as myself have chosen it..