“The fine line between the languid dreams and the lucid reality, that is where I saunter”

Stage 1:

With the cheers and the vociferation in the ambience, the celebration begins.

The faces in the bunch speak volumes, the hard-core party mongers beaming like a child who has just been provided with his milk bottle, the sulkers with their constant throes reminding me of Peter Pettigrew and his ever so trembling hands. The NDA(non-drinker’s association)already gabbing among themselves, and among the horde, the others who don’t show their true visage until the liquid pours.(not rains, but pours).

Stage 2:

After the shrieking and squalling is o’er, the temper of the bunch (now rather a herd) calls for the tenderness of the music to hit their ears. The inner laden Mozart rises in each one of the inebriated souls and everyone lays out the pastiche from the deepest corners of his heart. The gruesome mixture of rap and rock and what not fills up the air, and the deplorable sight of hoi polloi doing the waltz on the amalgam of hinglish songs pluck the eyes to bring the tears flooding through them, really my friend, it’s that agonizing.

Stage 3:

The stage is set for the antics and tricks of the crusaders cum clowns, the half spelled slangs, the cursing and the ephemeral feeling of superiority overtakes any sense of gumption which may have been present if not for the uber-distilled anti-depressants. The bunch that was has now been turned into a pride, with the lions now marking their territories and devouring anything edible (or not). Melancholy is the emotion of the hour, on top of that the eventual loss of the peripheral vision leading to the queer sight of people just staring at nowhere, the esoteric philosophy follows, the sporadic loss of words and the half formed sentences doing little to mar the symphony between the speaker and all his avid listeners. Somewhere at a distance, the peace is broken, a cacophony if you may; another lost and misguided soul is to be seen, bawling out his own dogmas and doctrines in a stilted manner over a rather docile crowd with utmost temerity.

The night goes on, the warriors fall and succumb to the sweet slumber.
I face the dilemma yet again, because now I am where I like myself the most, maintaining a fine balance over the thin line of reality, with a small hiccup, a minuscule temptation enough to make me fall on the side of the beautiful repose which brings with itself the aura that soothes the innards, and calms the mind.

I give in; I fall, smiling all along, what a beautiful life.

“Please, don’t spoil my day, I’m miles away and after all I’m only sleeping”-The Beatles


Vishal is an LSD member. Read more of his work here.



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