Abstract madness!

I lie on my bed gazing at the roof, partially illuminated by the parking lot lights, wondering what I should do to while away my time until I fall asleep. Reading seems like a tedious option as the sound would disturb the others, sleeping like logs, given the late hour of the night. Getting up, walking to the shelf, searching for the book and then coming back is in itself a process that could render me tired enough to fall asleep. But I am just too plain lazy to take all that pain. So I decide to bend over and pull out the laptop from under the bed, where it normally seeks shelter at night, and think of writing something. I couldn't care less for the topic of my composition, since the sole motive is to fall asleep. The otherwise peaceful night, is punctuated all of a sudden, by whining sounds of new born pups that are shivering in the eccentric chill of the Pune weather. I shove my laptop back into its abode and heave my torso forward lazily. I peep out of the window adjoining my bed, merely out of sympathy for the cute little animals. The mother of the litter, hovers above the shivering pups and looks around for an answer to their squeals. She does as much as, to find a cardboard piece, tattered remains of a box, seemingly that of a food processor; the type that even the rag pickers would leave behind. The bitch places the protection on top of her wailing pups in a manner so sensitive that it contradicts the very term by which we humans refer to her. I doubt her effort will have an effect on the pups. I expect more trouble and whining. As I yawn, deep down inside me I want this antic to go on for a while, just long enough for me to feel sleepy enough. Astonishingly, they stop whining instantly. I wait for a few minutes in my awkward posture, still lunging towards the window, for the pups to prove me right. They are small. But they are as mean as any young one of mankind. Mean, because they just will not pretend or lie about anything even if just for my sake. In their world right is right and wrong is wrong. That is their take on the matter and they care two hoots for your opinion on it. Their honestly means that I am not proven right. I get back into my blanket and curse the bitch and her pups for making me come out of my cozy shelter. But I also sense my anger in these curses: anger at the pups for their insolence in proving me wrong and also at the bitch for doing the right thing and not letting the pups shiver to death. I pause mid way through the thought. I question who was mean. The puppies in their acceptance or me in hoping for more whining and pain driven by my selfishness to bide time. I think aloud, ' Humans or dogs, mothers always know the best for their child.'

I pull the sheet over my head to shield my ears from the shrieking silence of the puppies in the ruthless cold beyond the confines of my room. A quick apology is uttered to the omnipresent lord for the abuses directed at the pups and their guardian. I think of the incident, minus the emotional deluge towards the end, as something worth sharing with kids in class tomorrow. I think of Mom and fall asleep . . . with a rather senile smile on my face.
-- scribbled on a sleepless night - Dec 17, 2009