I wish...

I only really want to sleep and do nothing else for the rest of my life. It will be an everlasting slumber, deep, black, without any dreams, completely oblivious of the outside world, a meteor crashing by my window would not be able to bring me back. Is it death I am talking about, or rather is it not death that gives oneself such sublime opportunity? No, let it not be death, because death in its turn brings not only the pleasure of a cold, sound sleep, it brings cries and whispers (ah.. Bergman). Agreed, death brings smiles too, death brings joy, death brings freedom. We don't know what death brings to the dead, maybe nothing; and nothing was precisely what he waited for his whole life - to feel nothing, to eat nothing, to go to nowhere, to talk to none, to earn no money, to bear to responsibility, to do.. nothing. In a strange way death satisfies the dead man, just like I satisfy my former lover, by never calling her up, never dropping a letter, never caring to know where she is. The freedom of nothing.

But really, I did not mean to talk about death, I really hate it. Biologically, it's nothing but a machine breaking down, permanently, beyond repair. But the parts are reusable, my eyes light up little Rimpi's life, my kidney saves Mrs. D'Souza, my bones are a regular anatomy class display. Oh! you haven't donated your body? Well, then it will mingle into ground, the bacterias and the fungus will have a grand feast. The young green plants will drink me up. My hands will become flowers, my eyes will form the leaves, my heart (oh! tender heart) won't make anything better than a slice of dry bark.

But still, I do not wish death, it's a very chemical manifestation of my wishes. And I have always been a fierce protester against chemical sciences, right from the school days when they broke their back (and mine too) trying to implant the knowledge into me. But sleep, on the other hand is a nice, cozy, psychological solution. It will be well accepted I am sure; my mother will only make a slight fuss about my late rising, my friends will pour in hordes of missed calls ... ah how I love picturising the scene, me sleeping unceasingly, profoundly happy, my phone ringing on and on.. sms-s pouring in every five minutes... my boss calling up all my colleagues everyday only to know that I haven't come to office even today, because I slept too much again... slowly people will start forgetting me. There will be lesser and lesser talks about it everyday. Nobody will mention my name while planning a movie-out. The headlines will hit the television screens, the lives of people around me will take an U-turn, empires would crumble, wars would start and end, environmentalists will keep on updating the count-down for a total collapse. People will talk and chat and work and marry and die. People would think if they are happy or sad or good-humoured or aggressive or loving or greedy or a mixture of all of it.

But I will simply not wake up. Because, really, I can't care less.