Tales from the Neverbeens

That shadow has been following me since the evening. It's one of those shadows I've always seen in the corners. Of tree trunks and leaves, of walls, of poles and of men. But then it was different too. As if it was moving among the still shadows, as if it rustled among the silent shadows. As I walked along the street the shadow seemed to be following, ever getting a fraction of an inch closer. As if it was bound to reach me very soon but not yet. I gathered the most courage I could and led myself forward. Blind to the time past and ahead. Just getting as close to habitation as I could. The shadow somehow seemed to have a great resemblance with loneliness. But this dark thing was alive, and I knew it. And the street seemed to never end. Other shadows of tree leaves seemed to flutter: of climbers seemed to reach out to my ankles to bind my feet. Ever so close. Yet not reaching me yet. It took me the most part of an hour to reach the place where I could see a house.  It was a lo...

Meditation is one of the first things I do in the morning. Everyday. But last night I was particularly disturbed. I felt as if some strange thoughts had taken upon themselves to not let me sleep peacefully. And I decided to meditate late past midnight. I sat down on the bed, crossed my legs, put my hands on the knees and closed my eyes. I began my journey inwards. Stars and galaxies flashed before my eyes. Those were the thoughts I was having in my mind at that time. I tried to find out the ones that were disturbing me. But then there was something else that made me uneasy. I could feel a presence around me that I had never felt before. I opened my eyes, and saw a pair of black eyes staring at me. A broad face of a lady with an expression that was so blank that it made me feel it was born just to stare at me. And the face did not have any body too. It was just suspended on nothingness. In fact, I realized I wasn't in my room anymore. I was in a black sky covered with stars and g...

I board this train daily. It passes though paddy fields, lakes and forests. Quite a scenic route, but a very isolated one. Only a few sporadic stations along the way, and only a few of them appear to be manned. On one of these stations, everyday, I see a man, a woman and a child of ten or so board the train. Over the days, they have caught my attention, for more reasons than one. For one, the man and the child are always the same, but the lady is always different. Never have I seen the same lady board on two consecutive days, or for that matter, on any two days ever. And the lady always looks depressed. I can almost imagine a stream of tears along her cheek from the distance. It was only today that I got a chance to talk to one of them. For the first time they were seated in my berth. We were seated in complete silence for a while. I stole a couple of furtive glances at them, but did not put any query. Yet. At once, the little boy demanded to be taken to the washroom. The man sudden...

I had always been an introvert. I had never really made friends. Those that I call friends are the people I hide my insecurity behind. They protect  me from those who feed upon other's insecurities. But I have this one particular friend who is different. Different in the sense that is the same as me. We meet everyday in the library, and we hide our faces behind the books in the same way, shielding ourselves from the real world and immersing ourselves in the harmless new world at the same time. "I have never had a friend here since Helen," he said one day. It startled me. We never talked to each other much, a confession was a far cry! "Who was she?" I asked plainly. "She was my wife," he said, "We lived here in the library house." Who lives in a library with family, I wondered. "If you don't mind, what happened to her?" I asked. "She got lost in the books. Never found her since. 'been ten years." There was som...

I was reading a novel. The clock ticked. Half past nine. The book said page 300. The story was quite an extraordinary one. I don't have the liberty to share the story, but I can of course give you the gist. Toby was a boy who lived in a small cottage beside the woods. He liked to watch the animals among the trees. And he liked bee-keeping. These two hobbies took up most of his time. But he had another one which he kept secret from his parents. They were not of the type who would like that habit. Reading. Toby's family was one of the forest families that were scattered among the trees, and hardly interacted with each other. As a result he had no friends except for a squirrel, a snake and a crow. Hunting was the prime occupation of the people, and reading was an entire waste of time for them. So what Toby did was build a secret tree house up in the trees and hide the books up there. Once in a while he would climb up, sit on a bower and get lost in a book. Sometimes he even for...

This boy often visited my dreams. Today he came with his family. They looked hungry. Normally they looked healthy and well fed. Today they looked famished. These people are cannibals. They have the biggest source of food in the world. But today they looked tired. They wanted someone to bring them food. That was why they came to me. I had never been a Reaper before. People in my dreams never shouted. So I never knew if I looked like a Reaper or a clown. And I didn't know if they were good enough. Finding people in my dream was difficult. They keep on disappearing. So I decided, I should go into the real world. I should wake up. Maybe I can pick some and serve them on a platter, and if I did the dressing well, maybe they'll never know the difference!

What I have seen just now is not for a weak mind to take in. Not that I claim to have a strong mind, but I had no option. I guess I can explain better after I narrate the events that have led to this. Not long before I was talking with my friend over the phone. I had a really sad tale to tell, and my friend did not seem to be in the best shape to listen to it. We talked for a while and then hung up. What the sad tale was is an entirely different matter. But right now, I had no one to talk to. So I tried to go to sleep. Insomnia kicks in at the worst of times. Like tonight. I've been increasingly losing sleep over the last couple of days, and I remember being painfully sleepy while in the class earlier this day. But now it was like a dozen cups of coffee running through me. I took to writing a blog. This was something I was going to do after a long time. And then I fell asleep. Or so I thought. When I woke up it was still dark. The clock read 3 am. I walked upto the window and o...