Tuesday, 14 October 2014

My “Room”

Now I know - it’s consistent. The hallucination bit.

Last time when I was put to sleep, medically, I had had a strange experience. Strange - in lack of a better word. Strange - to make it brief. Strange - to not confuse myself again, perhaps.

Yes, it was the time I gave birth. The first time I was put to sleep, medically.

Curious about that last time - mildly, even? Then you may read THIS.

(Incorrigible, I know!)

Later on, and a couple of years after, I had discussed that the first time ever with someone I thought to be a friend. That conversation explored deeper into what I really felt, rather saw, back then. Afterwards, after having separated the milk from the water like a thirsty, albeit ugly, duckling, I thought I could strip the privacy off that conversation and keep it for record’s sake. 

And HERE it goes: "A strange role-play"

Enough of referencing back. I understand. Now, we move on. Literally!


Time has traveled quite a few rounds ‘round the Sun since then.

Today, sleeping medically has become an everyday affair, and on days I try to experiment taking myself off my doses for a single night, the effect lingers on for next few days, making me more miserable than I ever thought I could be. I have been sleeping with medicine for quite some time now. I have not known what sleeping without medicine is like, for quite some time now.

But there I digress. And here, I stop myself.

Here, is the point I am trying to make.

I had to go for a surgery, minor, and was put to sleep with what they call “general anaesthesia” once more. I merrily sunk into unconsciousness once again, and guess what?

Yes, I had “visions”. Again.


Wait. Let me try.

Last time, if you remember or if you have read the link above you’d know – it was in the lap of nature. Under the Sun and on the ground and with people around.

I apologise. I cannot but keep referring back to last time. To me, it serves for a reference point. To me, it perhaps even stands for a journey, from what I was back then and what I became, now. From what I craved to what I crave. And from what I feared to what I fear. Of losing.

Well, this time it was not in the open – unlike last time. This time, there was a room.

The Room. Rather.

(See the difference! In me? I told you.)


The Room wasn’t particularly captivating. The curtains were of economic quality, and the paint on the walls was kind of a faded pink in a silly way. The Room had not a single furniture. No mirror, no wardrobe, no chest of drawers. Not a chair, even.  There was no bed – just a mattress on the floor; one that almost covered the whole of the floor. If anything, there was just a mere stripe of mosaic, barely visible, left to the floor, and that housed a couple of plastic, translucent, pet bottles that once could have had some water in them but now rolled on the floor, empty. There could have been a pair of glasses somewhere there beside them, partly hidden under the mattress, but I can’t be too sure.

Coming back to the mattress, it was covered with a striped - too colourful for anybody’s sane choice – bed-sheet, and equally disruptive looking pillows scattered across it in a clumsy manner. It looked like the bed was either never done, or had been done with. It looked like it had a tone of finality – either, it mattered no more, or it was over with its purpose. However, not quite.

What is stranger is the fact that though I haven’t ever seen or been to any room like that as I can remember to my best, while I was in it, it felt all too known. It felt like it is not a room, but "The Room".

The Room That I Was Meant To Be In. To Live In. To Call Mine. (No, that’s not a pun. Thank you!)


In my vision, I felt myself sitting in it. I was at the upper right corner of it, eyes closed, head rested against the cold bare wall, legs stretched, feet one atop another. I was feeling very one with myself, in case it makes remotely any sense.

And then, there was someone else in it. In the Room.

I could not make out the face or the features. Now as it seems, I perhaps didn't even try. But as far as I could make out or as I think of it now, it was a man. Some man.

He laid there, stretched, his head on my lap. Strangely light, almost like an extension of my own anatomy. I couldn't much feel his presence apart from the warm breath that was so rhythmic that it eventually sank in tune with my own heartbeats.

We stayed like that. For a time as long as it perhaps took the surgeons to take the faulty, corrupted, gallbladder off my system and stitch the rest of me back together. I don’t know!

All I know is, I never knew Peace like this ever before. I am so peaceful, I could die.


I wouldn’t have written this down. I couldn’t, actually. I wasn’t being able to write for some time now, but you wouldn’t have noticed. And I didn’t want to, as well.

But then, I did. See, I did finally write this down! Because a very dear friend somehow understands me enough to understand it would well worth be an experience for me to write about, and asked me to.

No, I won’t say a thank you, though. It’s understood.


“Give me another chance - I want to grow up once again!”


Someday, I may actually find My Room. Won’t I?