The Odd Couple....revamped

Azure blue skies.... itinerant wisps... ugly black letting loose with flippant fury.... dripping off the rails in viscous slow-motion... pockmarked surface, swaying reeds... soaked to the bones, gotta make it fast...damn! late again, flaccid muscles loath to budge....sweet slumber, wash over... gentle, persuasive oblivion... too silent, who's there? just that cantankerous fool... perennial pest... pungent zing, that concoction... impenetrable reds... that impossibly lovely curve of the calf....

Bang! Key turning in lock, ceremonious feet-wiping session, followed by an assortment of sounds, a hearty sneeze, noisy clearing of throat, logging on to Windows, that officious peal.... The light that then floods the room, insinuates itself into the system, banishing the last vestiges of sleep, and the supine self twists into an uncomfortable position.

Effectively, it is farewell to elusive sleep, second night in a row. I curse passionately under my breath; it is incredible how vile the incensed senses permit themselves to be on occasion. The guilty party meanwhile settles himself cosily in his chair and proceeds to immerse himself in the magellah of mediocrity, the latest hit from the homeland cinema stables. (Restraint compels me not to divulge details of the above, for fear of alienating certain close friends of mine, by seeming biased). This is the kind of product that defies the constraints of devices such as headphones, pronouncing the cacophony in syllables just as clear as though they were spelled out.

In short, I am at the end of my tether, awakened rudely from beckoning sleep by a boorish roommate, whose finer traits vanish in the light of his recent crimes. I cannot sleep, and there are few things quite as infuriating, as well qualified to drive one to distraction, as sleep lost. I lay awake, practising various patterns of obloquy, all muttered of course, for decency forbids, after all.

To add insult to injury, he commences a voice chat. Now I am a very light-sleeper, even a warble suffices to stir the senses into unwelcome activity. This is far from the last straw, this is dropping down the ravine of wakefulness at a furious pace, the last straw glimmering in the far distance. I affect discomfort, toss about, mumbling a bit and sundry other such signals. Promptly filtered out by the headphones, of course. Now becomes all the more apparent the phenomenon of how someone under headphones tends to jack up the speech volume almost inadvertently, although at this moment all I can think of is how all this is a devious and wretched ploy to get back at me for..... wait, he cannot have a grievance against me surely? The epitome of cleanliness and order, the very soul of consideration(:))..........

So I am forced to eavesdrop on a conversation in that most comical of Indian tongues, with its uncouth drawls and vowel endings. Predictable to the letter, it touches upon food, acquaintance and work in that order, with an attendant lack of mirth that is almost somnolent....almost. It has me fairly worked up, and in a murderous state. Oh! Why did I sneak that afternoon nap? Woe betide me if I ever do so again... False, blatantly false ring those claims that the body demands a daily aggregate of sleeping hours, as opposed to a continuum.

So while I am wide awake in bed, for the 5th hour nearly, the clock hands outlining 3 am at the moment, I try desperately to clear the mind of the million thoughts that plague it. Focusing on a blank screen has produced some results in the past.... But the mind's eye wanders, the screen lends itself to chimerical flights, absurd connections and persisting insomnia.

Unfortunately, books in bed only stimulate these senses, rather than lull them to sleep. So that's that. Counting sheep assumes interesting dimensions of its own. The sheep morph into Quixote's adversaries, starting me on another trail, no less compelling than its predecessors.

I try under the bedspread, then over it, sideways, on the belly, full stretch, curled up, and other postures I seem incapable of during exercise sessions. But to no avail. Of course, how long can this last? But vengeance will be mine.

The mornings are my domain, when I may return the shenanigans of the night with interest. I awake noisily, push the bed around, croon discordantly, adjust the chair, shut the door a couple of times and jog on the spot, all the while observing the effects out of the corner of my eye. i draw the curtains, one of his pet peeves(he hates dust and sunlight), and adjust the blinds so the first shafts of sun illuminate his corner with the joyous intimation of dawn.

Ah, bliss.... He turns, tosses, I see the lips move, do I perceive a curse? I redouble my exertations, filled with the satisfaction of the frog who strangles the stork on his way into the gullet. I tell you, there is nothing as pleasurable as sweet, sweet revenge, especially when apparently nonchalant.

To cap it all off, while he slips off to the toilet for a minute, I exit, lock the door and remove myself from the scene for an hour, aware that his keys lie within. Later, on my return, I am greeted with an inscrutable glance, typical of him, which I interpret as constipation. I smile sunnily, and let him in. Maybe I should have stayed away longer.....

Needless to say, this is the first time I have shared a room this long. Pathological dislike of his species aside, the sneaky politics is fun, and to be sure, I am sleeping well again.