Oy vey! An account of my extreme sleep deprivation!
Normally, when sleeping in what I have come to think of as MY bedroom, I can block out MOST of the sensory antagonists by taking certain preemptive measures. For one, I hang the extra blanket--the one designated for the second twin guest bed in the room--over the windows. (There was only a decorative, gauzy thing hanging there prior to my arrival.) The hanging blanket effectively blocks the light from the two glaring orbs directed straight into our apartment. Secondly, the installment of my foam earplugs are mostly effective in blocking nightly noise; if these are insufficient, I supplement the sound barrier with the device you see in the photo above. (These "ear protectors", as I believe they are called, are the kind worn at a shooting range so as not to be deafened by weapons going off. A lot of meditators now wear them to have complete silence for better concentration.) Generally speaking, the combination of these methods enables me to experience a mostly undisturbed night of sleep.
But alas! With 6 of us now sharing this one unit, my methodologies have been severely disrupted; no more am I able to experience a decent night's sleep.
Initially, we all agreed on the plan to have mom and I sharing the guest bedroom. Being a most amicable and likable woman, Nishima was a welcome bunk mate. Unfortunately, she soon proved NOT to be so at all: after she rapidly passed out on her adjacent bed, the woman began snoring like an over-sized bulldog with a bad sinus condition. The 10 year-old, who had been relegated to the living room couch, was also out like a light and mimicking his mother like a smaller version of that bulldog, his snoring being slightly higher in pitch but equal in volume. When I attempted to rouse him with the intent of switching places, he simply would not cooperate. I shook him and trilled his name. I yanked on both of his arms. He only muttered and rolled over. How jealous I was of this mother and son combo and their ability to sleep through seemingly anything! I resorted to desperate measures: I fetched Shivani--who was not yet in bed, though well past midnight--as my backup. She was more aggressive than I, violently shaking the boy while simultaneously yelling at him. Even so, it was several minutes before he finally sat up, bleary-eyed and looking quite disoriented. The both of us then escorted him to the bedroom, steering him toward the bed I had recently vacated. But he would have none of it and instead plopped himself directly onto the prone body of his sleeping mother. Surely you won't be surprised to hear that she, too, was not even remotely perturbed by this human missile crashing onto her. She too simply muttered indiscernible utterances and rolled onto her side, the dollop of son wrapped up in her arms. It was really very touching.
Relieved, and armed with aforementioned sleeping accessories, I made my way back to the living room and customized my nest on the couch, making it as cozy as possible. Now a good two hours past my usual bedtime, I was anxious to get down to the serious business of a good night's sleep. Oh, what a sweet pipe dream, indeed! Fate deemed otherwise.
Each of my senses was so assaulted as to render sleep an impossibility.
Let me begin with the assault on my eyeballs: yes, true, I have my eye cover. But as you may know, it is an imperfect contraption. Light can ooze in around the bridge of the nose, unless one were to tape the bottom edge of the thing to the face! I did not have the means to resort to such an extreme measure. While it DID successfully block out the intrusive exterior lights, it failed to obliterate the interior light--coming in at a lower level--streaming from under the doors of my seemingly nocturnal housemates. This, however, was the tamest of all the issues I faced.
The most abusive sense bombardment was that bestowed upon my poor ears. I woefully tell anyone willing to listen that I am cursed with hearing as acute as a dog's. I am truly not exaggerating. I hear EVERYTHING that goes on around me. This ability came in exceedingly handy as a teacher, when kids whispered things to each other from the opposite end of the classroom which I was not supposed to hear, but did. Definitely a handicap, though, in terms of getting a decent night's sleep in a country as astonishingly noisy as India is.
Here is a sample of the smorgasbord of sounds: seriously murderous cat fights; cacophonies of wild dogs barking and howling, seemingly for no apparent reason; train whistles blowing throughout the night; the banging of--what? not drums, but water tanks? Propane cylinders? or....??? Generators; revving motorcycle engines; neighbors coughing, sneezing and expectorating; flat mates engaged in lively conversations at full volume as if it is perfectly normal to carry on in such a fashion at 3 a.m. (impervious to the poor guest on the couch); and finally, in even more wee hours of morning, an air raid siren!
Lastly, the travails of my poor nose and lungs. I am, as you might guess, equipped with a sense of smell also too acute for my own good. The perpetually billowing smoke from the campfires down below were normally obstructed by a closed bedroom door. However, no such barricade was possible in the living room. The same couple with an aversion to sleeping at night also believed it was critical for Charlie--ruler of the roost--to have access to the balcony at all hours, from whence entered the horrific smoke. But why, I seethed, does the dastardly feline need this perpetual access through the open balcony doors? The answer was that this animal might need to use his litter box out there, OR, he may simply desire to indulge his princely curiosity about the life of the serfs down below. Clearly, Charlie having HIS needs met was far more important than the needs and general health of the lesser class of human occupants. (Granted, I slyly shut the balcony doors at every opportunity when everyone else was sequestered in their rooms, but it was always too late, after the smoke had already filled the living and dining room areas.) Hence, the pathetically ineffectual bandanna over the face--an accessory NOT needed when in my proper bedroom!
Tragically, there is yet more, dear reader: that same Prince Charlie had further evils to impart: he thought it most amusing, when not prowling out on the balcony, to pass the night jumping on and off the couch. Yes, the very one on which I was desperately attempting to sleep. His timing was uncanny; he seemed to sense any moment when I was actually beginning to drift off before commencing with such exploits. And, of course, I was awakened anew each and every time! When, in utter exasperation, I attempted to throw him off using my legs like a sweep, he simply retaliated by attacking them. If a substantial blanket had not been covering these poor appendages, he surely would have sank his fangs right into my flesh.
Have I slept at all, these past two, nightmarish nights?! Perhaps a tad, but only in fits and starts. I have arisen both mornings--not surprisingly--an absolute snarling grump. My housemates are not taking me at all seriously when I bemoan my fate. If anything, they find my plight infinitely amusing! (My brother always accused me of "laughing at tragedy"--thus my housemates' response is truly my karmic comeuppance! Of course I have noticed that, in general, Indians tend to find accounts of another's travails cause for much merriment.)
Tonight, I am happy to report, I will once again take back my previous bedroom domain. I pray to the vast multitudes of Indian deities out there that I can manage a decent night's sleep once again. If you, dear readers, truly are my friends, then you will join me in propitiating all of those gods on my behalf! Thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
Comments
Post a Comment