Sleepless / II

A series of 6 short stories, sleepless explores memories from childhood through the musings of a woman who is coming to terms with growing up and growing old.

There was a time in my life when my biggest worry was what to wear to the mid-week ball at Saturday Club. My fears ranged from insecurity and tanned skin to teenage awkwardness and not knowing how to talk to boys. It was a simpler time and in spite of all its angst, it was beautiful. Growing up meant something completely different then. 

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I had woken up from a dream. A dream of a memory from my childhood. A happy memory dream. I stretched lazily, as one would after a good nap. My nights had become a series of naps. My bladder was full and it was time for a nightcap. I chuckled at my own joke, knowing full well that it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. Never mind. As long as I could make myself laugh, I would be okay. I didn’t bother looking at the clock. It would probably be 3:00 am.

I sat on the pot and thought about my circadian rhythm. I had been reading a lot about sleep cycles, the science behind each cycle, how many cycles were needed for good sleep and how to naturally shift my sleep schedule for a restful night. Each sleep cycle is 90 minutes long and our body needs 4-5 sleep cycles for a good night’s sleep. If you want to wake up at 6:00 am then you needed to calculate backwards to know what time to go to bed. 90 minutes per cycle x 5 sleep cycles is 450 minutes or 7.5 hours of sleep. I need at least 9 hours which would be 6 sleep cycles. So I would need to be in bed by, asleep, by 9:00 pm. I laughed at the absurdity of it. This is probably why parents are always tired. We don’t have the time to follow our circadian rhythm. Satisfied with my justification, I told myself it’s okay to sleep late and wake up late as long as I woke up happy and rested. My family’s mood depended on it.

I put off the exhaust fan and opened the bathroom window. There was a gentle breeze, cool and calming. I stood there for a while, looking out at the back alley. The memory dream came back to me – fragments of a night which I had not forgotten. I had put it away, like an old photo album tucked under piles of other photo albums – the kind that has photos of one single trip or a special occasion filling up only a few of the pages, the rest of the leaves left blank.

It was the middle of summer in Calcutta. The air was hot, humid and muggy. We were all wishing for rain. The Saturday Club mid-week ball was in full swing. The indoor badminton court had been converted into a dance floor. There was a live band with glittering disco lights. The music was pulsating with electric energy, both from the band and those on the dance floor. The bar was crowded and the lawns packed, decked with fairly lights and sponsor boards; Jack Daniels Bar, Gupta Brothers Chaat, Ching’s Chinese and so on.

The Saturday Club hosted a sports carnival every summer. All clubs in Calcutta participated. You could walk in and out freely during the carnival – the only time you didn’t need a member to sign you in. It was one week long and in the middle (usually a Wednesday night) there was a midweek ball. I had no interest in the carnival, but the ball was another beast.

In my memory dream, I am standing just outside the dance floor hoping to find someone to dance with. I couldn’t resist but move to the music contemplating dancing alone – but that would have been social suicide. Fancy girls would whisper to their boyfriends, “Did you see that girl dancing alone? So weird and desperate! Looking for attention,” all the while seeking affirmation from them on their looks, body, style and general character and personality. I wanted to be a fancy girl with a boyfriend. I had worked really hard on my outfit – a bluish silver crop top with high waisted black skinny jeans. I had gone to the parlour to blow dry my shoulder length hair hoping that the hairspray would hold. It didn’t. Within an hour my hair had curled, frizzed and returned to its original form. I wish I had brought a rubber band to tie it up. A senior from school passed by with a posse of girls behind her fawning over her ultra tight ultra mini skirt and blue eye shadow. She had a great figure, but so did I. I caught myself following her with envy. I wanted to be a fancy girl. My friends had all vanished to the lawns – some eating chaat, some chatting with uncles and aunties who were family friends. The ball attracted old and young alike – some came for the dance, some for the bar; but most came because in Calcutta you wouldn’t want to miss the most (and only) “happening” evening in middle of summer.

Eventually a boy walks up to me, asking for a dance. I can see his friends sniggering and giggling in the background. Something feels off. I say no. He looks shocked and asks again – perhaps I didn’t hear him? I say no firmly. As a last desperate attempt at saving face he tells me there’s a bet and he will lose if I say no. He doesn’t say it but I know he’s pleading. This annoys me. I say no again and stand my ground. He walks away embarrassed and is greeted by loud guffaws from his friends. They pat him on the back, consoling him – “She’s not worth it man. We will find someone else.”

Should I have said yes? Would I have been “worth it” then?

My cheeks flushed red, I felt hot and stuffy. I needed air. I left the dance floor and headed to the lawn looking for my friends. Hot tears threatened to spill out. I needed my friends. Just then a silky voice behind me said, “Hey, has Akhil come tonight?”

I froze. I knew this voice. I could recognize it even if I was presented with a thousand other voice samples. He was so close I could smell his aftershave. I dared not look at him but this is what I had come for. To look for him, to look at him. I turned slowly, trying to regain my composure and looked up at the most handsome face in all of Calcutta. He was wearing a deep blue cotton shirt, two buttons opened, faded blue jeans and Adidas sneakers. His hair drooped softly on his forehead. He smiled kindly. I wanted to sound confident, fun and maybe even flirty. I wanted to say, “Would you like to dance?” Or maybe something less bold like, “Hey! It’s been a while. How have you been?” Instead, I said, “Akhil hasn’t come tonight.”  I sounded meek. “Oh okay! See you around then,” he said causally and walked off. By now my heart was pounding. What had just happened? I had to make sense of this. I needed the bathroom.

Akhil is my older cousin brother. Silky voice is his friend. I am the little cousin sister of Akhil.

I had buried this memory. I remember repeating this two second conversation to my friends over and over again. I remember describing every little detail and engraving it in my memory. Who knows when we would meet again? It’s not like we were friends.

That night I had felt shame, rejection and ridicule. But I had also felt ecstasy – the kind that only a 15 year old girl can feel. I wondered why, after all these years, this particular memory had surfaced.

A large mosquito buzzed in my ear. Another one bit me on my little toe taking me out of my reverie. I closed the window and headed back to the room. Tonight the usual dread and restlessness was replaced with nostalgia, a desperate longing to return to being a child with my parents and my friends in my home. 

I lay down next to my daughter, listening to her rhythmic breathing: faster than mine but restful. I remembered my mother stroking my hair when I slept; usually on nights when the power was out. I remembered the rhythm of the hand fan as she moved it gently over me and my brother – left to right – with the wind coming and going. I remembered the relief we felt when the power came back and the fan started with a slow drawl. In my half asleep half awake state, I remembered feeling secure, loved and happy.

I spent time lingering over these memories, not wanting to fall back asleep just yet. There was joy in them, a lightness of step and a promise of the future. I love my daughter. I love my husband. I love being a mother. I love the life we have made together. But tonight, I want to be that 15 year old again – even if it’s for a short while, even if in my dreams.