Last night howled its way with a shriek. It caught me unawares. Doors banged. Windows creaked in their hinges. Strange sounds erupted in the darkness. It seemed a strange epilogue to a day where my mind howled its own demands. 2PM – blazing sun. 34 degrees Celsius. Cycling in its heat, my mind a mass of scrambled eggs, it demanded a serving of those delectable vegetable shasliks. The usual man who sells it, however, disappointed with a shrug of the hands and those detestable words “Meiyo,” meaning Not There/Don’t have.
So it was back to the confines of the apartment, dripping in sweat and ladles of tiredness seeping through. Birdie was tired too and didn’t volunteer to obtain the shasliks from a newly discovered street-food seller. It created a long see-saw battle. I, with my mind still craving for the shasliks, and Birdie waging her own battle with tiredness and guilt at not fulfilling my cravings. Terrible as I might be, I haven’t reached the stage where I would send a young lamb like her out to get shasliks for me when she was just as tired as I. It wasn’t pretty this epic fight – but it served its purpose. It illumined for me the workings of my own mind, and showed that only with another do we discover its petty dealings.
Today though, was much better. Classes were more responsive, although they still seemed to be in slumber a little. I met the elusive and famous Miss Zhang for the first time who came over to inspect the landline. Now, that is a mystery beyond belief. The telephone company says that there is nothing wrong with the phone and that there is no limit on receiving calls so money is not a problem…we can receive local calls well enough and that rules out the possibility of a faulty connection. So why why why are we not receiving calls from India? It seems bizarre – and well, as of now, no one seems to have a clue what to do.
I read for the first time about the world’s rarest living creature “Lonesome George.” His story as the ONLY surviving member of his species is heartrending. I cannot imagine how cruel man must have been to reduce a thriving tortoise species to just one. Somewhere on that page I also read with fascination a man’s desperate struggle to wean himself off the dependence of anti-depressants. His epic battle against the mind’s last shrieking cries of serotonin brought back fresh memories of my own small minuscule plunge into the world of drugs last year. I am so glad my mind is free. It’s a freedom to cherish – beyond life, it is the greatest freedom of all.
With that in mind I sent that article link to the Chennai man with the words that it might be illuminating to read this for someone who believes that taking drugs for the mind is just the same as taking Crocin. For all that, I receive an unbelievable five word comment ” it’s a really good article.” What the heck, I wonder? I didn’t send an article to critique, it wasn’t an article on the general state of Indian politics or the war in Iraq…it was an article that was I felt touched closer to home, dealt with something that was personal and effecting to readers like I and the Chennai man. And I get this! Unbelievable.
I should give up the fight. Tomorrow I am going to the pharmacy and buying some 30 mind steroids and sending it by express parcel to the man in Chennai. He might be in Chennai but the way he has been behaving of late, I would think he is more the man on the moon. With love from China, 30 of the best drugs to prevent supposed symptoms of schizophrenia (sorry, I don’t know what these drugs are for), 10 drugs for obsession with OCD, and 40 for forgetting that to love is to let yourself go, and to look in another’s mirror not your own.
This post though is dedicated to one true survivor and my hero for the day – Lonesome George.