Mama, What’s Happening?

He woke up to the smell of coconut oil. “Mama” he yelled in his sleep. His eyes are still shut but he feels irritated. He wants to sleep more but the coconut smell is irritating him. “Mama, stop” he yelled as he opened his eyes. There stood a beautiful lady who looked similar to his mother. But he doesn’t know who she is. He doesn’t understand what she is doing in his room with his mother’s looks and his mother’s oil. “Where is my mama?” he asked her. He feels invaded in his space. And he only wants to see his mother right when he wakes up. “Shhh” she patted his head. “Sleep, daddy,” the woman said as he went back into the slumber. 

He woke up again and he was in a different room. His father was smoking a cigar, it was his study room. He walked up to his daddy. “Father, when did you come?” he asked eagerly. His father brushed the kid’s hair. “Right when you fell asleep on my desk, slugger” he tickled the kid in the tummy. The kid ran into the hallway screaming “Mamaa” and his mother answered from the garden. He rushed to the garden and he saw his mom plucking the weeds out of the bushes. “What is it Krishna?” she asks annoyed. “Mama, did you know papa is back?” he asked curiously. “Yes, I know my dear, why don’t you show papa your new toy you bought?” she brushed him away. Krishna rushed to his room and kept searching for his new toy. 

After a lot of throwing the things around, he finally found the airplane toy that he was looking for. He held it in hands with pride and ran to his father’s study. He saw his mother weeping, a bit older than she was supposed to be, and holding his father’s hands. “Mama, what happened?” he asked as his mother pointed to Krishna and said “Why don’t you think about him?”. Krishna’s father stood from the chair “You can’t use him as defense every time, Sarala! He will be 21 this year!” he yelled. “Dad, I’m eleven” Krishna defends, but his voice came out rather coarse. He doesn’t understand how his voice is so coarse. He looked in the mirror that is beside him. And he had a moustache and a goatee. “But, I was just eleven a few moments ago” he said and turned back towards his parents.

His mother looked rather old, like she was 60 all of a sudden. “Mama, what’s happening?” he asked as she looked at him with despair in her eyes. “The dementors are coming” she said pointing to the window. Krishna moves to the window. He sees scary shadows filling his garden. He sees his own reflection in the windows and he is back 11 again. A dementor knocks on his window and he closes his eyes screaming loudly. He turns back screaming to see his mother and father quarrelling. “Mama there is a ghost outside” he shouts pointing at the window. “You are too old to be scared of imaginary things, Krishna” his father sighs. Krishna turns back to the window only to stare at his 21-year-old’s reflection. 

He turns back to his father and is taken back looking at a black coffin and his old mother sitting beside. “What happened, mama?” he asked, trembling with fear. Random people in army uniforms entered the room and covered the coffin with a flag. The soldiers stood in a line in the room and they shot their guns in the air to pay respects to Krishna’s father. Krishna worried about the roof and looked above. It was blue sky and he turned down to realise that he had mud under his feet. He was standing in his garden where the rites of his father are taking place. The soldiers were going away and he followed them. “Don’t Krishna”, his mother yelled. But something pulled him with the soldiers. The soldiers rallied outside their gate and it was mayhem out there.

The planes were bombing around and the soldiers were camping, unloading guns from the crates. “Here” a soldier threw a rifle at Krishna. Krishna caught the rifle and took cover. “Charge!” the major yelled. “But, I’m just 21,” Complained Krishna. “You are 32 now, Captain Krishna” a soldier patted his back. “Krishna” his mother called him from behind. Krishna turned back and his mother was standing at the gate, and he ran to his mother and hugged her tight. His arms wrapped her legs. She lifted him up and threw him in the air and caught him again. “Coochie Coochie” Sarala chuckled and kissed Krishna on his cheek. His father, rather young, took Krishna into his hands and pointed towards the flag. “That’s the nation you will serve after me, Son” he said.

But the flag started turning black, like there is a black fire on the flag. The flag started vanishing into nothingness. “It is not fire” Baby Krishna yelled to his father. “Krishna” his mother called him from behind and he turned back. “The dementors, Krishna!” she screamed as she caught black fire on her. Krishna started running towards her but his knees started aching. His voice started trembling. He kept running towards her as she kept burning in the black fire. “Daddy” a voice called Krishna from behind. He turned back to see a young lady resembling his mother. “Daddy, let’s go” she yelled at Krishna. “My mother, she is being taken away into the void. I need to save her” Krishna yelled. 

“Don’t embarrass me in front of my friends, papa” she shouted angrily. There were a lot of kids laughing at Krishna standing beside his daughter. “Why are you laughing at me? My mother is going into the void, everything is going into the void!” he yells. “Papa!” the lady yelled. “You are not my daughter, I’m still eleven, how can I have a daughter” he yelled at her as he fell down. The lady came running and lifted Krishna. Krishna felt a piercing pain in his knees. In her eyes he saw his own reflection. His wrinkled skin and shaking face. He couldn’t accept it, he screamed hard. He stood up and started running. His body turned into an eleven-year-old boy. His daughter and her friends kept chasing him but they are old, they are twenty somethings. Can they outrun an eleven-year-old boy?

Krishna ran on the streets and entered into a building he found familiar. His old mother sat on the couch when he entered the door. “I was waiting for you, Krishna,” his mother opened her arms. Krishna hugged her tight. “Stay here, with me” mother said embracing him proudly. He felt as if the hug was squeezing him. Soon he feels choked. “Mama, leave me alone” he yelled and frees himself from her. There was a gigantic thud and he rushed to the window. The world is filled with dementors. They are putting up the black fire. And the black fire is sucking everything. “Mama, what is happening?” he yells. “They are eating your memories, Krishna! Please stay with me, I can’t move. Stay with me and accept the void” his mother opened her arms again.

But the ghastly creatures have bashed the door open. They sucked his mother into the void and pounced upon Krishna. They started sucking the life out of him. And they took breaks for each inhalation. And with each inhalation, they took things into the void. Krishna was holding the carpet hard, he doesn’t want to go to the void. The dementor inhaled him. But he was strong. With first inhalation, Krishna turned 15 and his eleven year old self went into the void. With the second inhalation, the 15 year old went in and Krishna turned 21. “No, Please. I want to remain young! I belong here!” Krishna yelled as his 21 year old got sucked in too. They kept on sucking the life out of Krishna till he turned 83. There was nothing left anymore. They sucked everything in the room.

They began with sucking the wallpaper. As they suck, there appears a black fire around the objects and the objects go into the void. The wallpaper went into the void and turned white. The inhalations of dementors grew and the room looked like a hospital room. And after everything went into the void, the coconut smell, it still exists. He couldn’t open his eyes anymore, he hadn’t got the power to keep them open. He closed his eyes as his daughter stood by him crying touching his forehead. “Stay, Daddy” she said. He overheard someone talking, maybe her husband. He closed his eyes, his hearing was going weak, sucked into the void. “Dementia, Dude.. He was suffering from Alzheimer’s for a long time. It doesn’t look like he is going to make it” he heard it faintly and he couldn’t hear anything anymore. And there was nothing, the void!

Memories and senses of Samuel Sheraton

I can feel the smell, the smell of freshly baked dough. The sweet smell of dough is throughout the street; it makes my mouth water. I looked at the bakery, and the bakers are not open yet. Maybe they are preparing for today. I look up at the sky, and the sun has not risen. But a few rays of him escaped and made the sky brighter than it was an hour ago. I wonder why I woke up this early; I can’t even eat anything till 2-3 hours pass. Wait, I know where I am, but When Am I? Are these feelings just memories?

I realised that I was drifting in a childhood memory. I am now 20 years older than that memory. It was the smell of dough that made me lose myself—the scent from the same bakery at the same time. The sun has not risen yet. And I wonder the same thing, why am I even awake? I am standing in between a road like an idiot while all the people are walking past me. They look shadowy and too dark to have any visible features. I don’t understand where there is such low detail.

I realised again; it is merely a memory. I am 23 years older than the memory of drifting away in my childhood memory because I’m standing in the same place that I stood and lost into memories 23 years ago. It is like the movie, Inception, except I’m awake. I’m drifting in memories while I’m awake. I always have this habit of losing myself into my memories.

It is not that I have only beautiful memories, but don’t know why I tend to travel a lot in my mind; revisit the memories. And this revisiting does not happen voluntarily. Something triggers these memories, and I find myself replaying all the memories that thave something similar to the present moment. But to be honest, other than the location, smell of the dough and my position, everything is different.

The main thing that is different from all the three scenarios, 43 years younger me feeling the smell of dough, 23 years younger me and the 50-year-old me, is the motive. We three were awake at the same time and happened to be at this place, but the reason behind waking up is different. Yet somehow, I travelled back in time because of the smell of dough. I heard a sharp bike horn that pierced my eardrums and made me come back to my senses.

I was in the middle of the street, trying to cross the road and the biker felt anxious, maybe he realised that my body is on auto-pilot mode. But the horn was unnecessary; I had managed ages by activating auto-pilot mode. I just leave my body to my instincts while I drift away into someplace. The screen that is present in my mind keeps playing different movies. Even when I’m riding my bike or driving my car, I drift away. It is my instincts that control the vehicle.

I have lived long enough than an average human. My hygiene is so bad that I never thought I would live past 45. I don’t sleep enough; I don’t eat enough. But I still have a potbelly, because I don’t walk sufficient either. I don’t do anything in the quantities suggested by people to live healthily because I feel everything is just a burden. I like drifting away into my memories. That is the only thing that I perform in quantities more than suggested. And then again something dragged me back to this world, and it kept my attention more than the biker. It is the nose of my building’s watchman.

Is he Pinocchio? Why is his nose growing day by day? Or is it that I never observed his nose? I guess it has something to do with his cap. He wore a monkey cap that covered all his face, and his nose was peaking out of it. He was a bit cute; I never thought of him this way. He suddenly looks adorable. After some time, I realised that I’m staring right into his face and it grew quite awkward. But I guess he didn’t notice; he was in his world of thoughts. Are all humans like this?

Maybe everyone is always lost in their own memories. It is weird how we can just switch to auto-pilot mode whenever we want. And it is a wonder how it is not a choice but an involuntary action. It is like a monitor turning into screensaver mode after a lot of idleness. The screensavers are memories which have something similar to the senses.

Like the smell of dough, somehow my brain hooked the two memories, the one first experienced and the next one when I drifted and the third time a few moments ago when I drifted away in memory of drifting away. I guess our brain links memories with our sense. The strongest of the senses that is active at that moment is embedded with the memory. The smell of dough that pierced into my nose and manipulated my thoughts. Now those three instances of memories are categorised under ‘Smell of dough’. I reached my apartment, but I didn’t want to go in.

If I chose to open the door my apartment, my mind would flood me with thousands of memories that are linked with the apartment. And nothing has changed in my apartment, the smell of older people and the smell of adult diapers. Nothing has ever changed in these 43 years, and I don’t expect it to change. When I was running in those streets sniffing the baking smells, I ran to buy medicines, for my great grandmother. I saw my grandmother and mother take care of her from she got diseased and soon became deceased.

There was a silence for a few months, and then my grandfather took the turn of falling on the bed. I guess someone should always be on the bed in this house. The smells of adult diapers, it surrounds me all my life. When I enter the house, that is the strongest of the senses that reaches my brain. The memories that flood into the mind and the movies that play in my brain’s screen are the ones that I don’t want to see. Enough of diapers! I thought a lot of times. But I’m happy that I don’t continue the trend of my family.

I don’t push the burden of cleaning my elderly butt to my child, because I have none. Unlike my family that took turns and shifted places with the next one, I’m afraid I will fall sick too. After my grandfather, it was my grandmother then my father and now my mother. They fell ill, they lived, for ages sucking the life out of the one serving them. It is a cycle what happened in our family. Our lives went on serving the elders, and there comes a time when we get the services in return. This cycle is what I want to break. I will never have children.

These thoughts rushed me as soon as I opened my door, and this is why I always pause before opening the door and making myself enter the diaper paradise. My sick mother turned her shaky head towards me from a distance. The ancestral bed she was lying on is as old as a fully grown pine tree. This movement of her head, it, in turn, triggers a lot of memories. It reminds me of all the others that turned their head to look at me every time when I enter. I love my mother! And that’s the chain that ties me to her. The bond that I can never severe. I chose to serve her rather than enjoying the life of my own; this is the bond of us.

I wish my mother were not sick. If not for that, deep down, I wanted her to die. Not because I hate her. I can never imagine my life without my mother. But what happiness does any of us have? What life have we seen other than elderly buttocks? I don’t compare myself with the life of others. The others have even sick lives. I see people thinking themselves to be independent yet somehow fall in the trap of love and have kids and grandkids. At my age, even they wipe poopy buttocks, except that it is of children’s. With the system that makes us spend our lives entirely in diversions, it is only ordinary to get lost in memories.

I sat beside my mother, and she holds my hand with a lot of difficulties. Her grip had begun to loosen for a couple of months. She smiled with her toothless mouth, and while her lips widen to her cheeks, her eyes puked out a drop of tear. “I’m sorry” she whispers, and this triggers the deepest of my fears. I couldn’t control the event; I don’t know why, but my eyes produced a lot of water. My vision became blurry, and the tears rolled down my cheeks. “You don’t need to be, Ma,” I said, kissing her forehead. I wiped my tears because I don’t want her to know that I hate my life. I do understand that this sickness only takes off her dignity.

But why did she say sorry? Did she feel guilty for making me serve her? Does she think that I didn’t marry because of her? I can never ask her these questions, and I don’t even want her to think about these things. I just want her to die peacefully. Only in death does this drifting away stops. She doesn’t have to be guilty of making me serve her. She doesn’t need to be a burden to anyone. But again, if she is dead? What am I going to do with my life? This thought struck me like a lightning bolt, and I had no answers. It is beyond me to imagine a life without the smell of adult diapers. It changes everything.

Maybe somewhere I don’t want her to die either. Perhaps that is the reason why I tender her ailments and keep her alive. I don’t want to live a life without her. I’m submitted to serve her; I need her to be there and keep me diverted from the nothingness of life. I need her alive. Or is this my irrational and moral mind speaking to me to kill my feelings of burden? Guh! I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if I wanter her alive or if I want her to die peacefully. But I think I am fine. With the earning, that is more than enough for this rag house; I can afford to serve my mother. So, I think it is okay, her being alive.

I shut the alarm that reminds of the medicine time, and I popped all the pills out of 9 different boxes. It takes 18 capsules per day for this elderly creature to be alive. I brought some water and called her name. She didn’t move; she does this. And she makes a fool out of me by playing dead. I get the doctors, and then she wakes up. Today I am not in the mood to play the fool. I shook her to wake her up. But she didn’t, and my heart started pounding. This sight of my motionless mother triggers specific memories of my father and grandparents. I stopped shaking her, and I guess I know what happened. I just stood beside her as motionless as she is.

It feels tight inside me. I am not emoting, and I am not thinking of anything else. It is just blank everywhere. I don’t want my mind to work now; don’t want it screen the memories of my mother, like some backstory. I don’t want to drift away now, and I want to be present at the moment. I want to look at this sight of the soul passing out from her body, and I want her to see the soul liberate both of us. The bond that made me stay in this world, it is severed now. Now there is nothing that ties me to this world. And no matter how much I hate to think of it, it gave me a sigh of relief. And this relief, It is a relief that made me think of all this.

I realised that it happened 21 years ago and now I’m sleeping in a cabin. The blizzard is so intense that cold breeze hacked into the gaps of this wooden cabin and entered into my room, and I can feel a sigh of relief. My 71-year-old body feels light and relieved. I understand that I cannot live any longer in this cold. My body has lost the capabilities to make me stand the cold anymore. I didn’t feel sick like my elders. That allowed me to travel thousands of miles by selling everything I had. I made sure that I keep travelling and have no redundancy in my life because I don’t want any repetitions that trigger my memories. I need new smells, new visuals, new sounds, new touches and new tastes.

But after 21 years, since my mother passed away, something took me back to all the memories that I evaded from all the time. And that is this relief that made me remember those things. There is something in my mind that feels happy and blissful. I craved to smell the dough one more time and I feel very lightweight; the cold breeze stopped bothering me. I can see something dark approaching me and erasing everything around me. And this darkness doesn’t have a taste, smell, visual, touch or sounds. It is the ultimate nothing that is filling me. And I felt happy for finally ending this loops of revisitation and go to a place where I get to have nothing. Soon it filled everything of me, and my eyelids felt heavy, I closed my eyes.

Photo by Luca Chiandoni on

Before death came – PAST LIFE REGRESSIOn

Argh! The headache is buzzing my mind,

Can’t even walk down the street;

Broke the glasses that were around,

One of them was Mayas’ favourite;

Do you even know the expense ­to mend?

What was the fault of my glass?

Out of your annoyance, I am about to distend,

Chill! Let’s talk and solve your problem;

Sorry and Thanks, but I can fend,

Nothing a good sleep cannot heal;

“I love you, but I have to do this, friend.”

A voice was constantly echoing in my sleep;

Go on; you need not contend,

Thank God, Maya got you here in time;

My head is breaking and I can’t pretend,

Bring up the treatment without any delay;

Your condition has been scanned,

Couldn’t see any cause for the headache;

There is something I intend,

Past life regression therapy can help;

Of course, if so you recommend,

Make yourself comfortable and relax;

Walk deep into your memories as I make snap sound,

As you say Doctor Krithika;

One, two, three..You are in the past life’s end,

I can’t breathe, please help me;

My head is spinning and spinning around,

Please take yourself to the time before this;

Maya, before my Mom calls me to run her errand,

Let’s go play near the statue of Ambedkar;

Hey, Little girl, come here, give me your hand,

Who are you? Why should I give?

I love you, but he will kill my Mom, friend,

Maya took my hand and gave it to the man;

He smiled creepily and yelled at me to turn around,

I heard him unzipping, and he pulled it out;

He strangled my hair and forced me to the ground,

When I woke up, all I could feel was a breeze.

When I woke up, all I could feel was a breeze.

Death came sooner than life

When I woke up, all I could feel was a breeze,

Calm and serene, Peaceful and Cool;

Winds howling with the only noise of their flow,

Laced with the honey, they were sweet;

Reminds me of my mothers’ fragrance,

Wish I could run into her arms and feel warm;

Where is she? I find no trace of her,

Mommy! Mommy!! Where are you?

I am not able to open my eyes; please help me;

Struggled, screamed and finally heard a voice,

“You cannot open your eyes here, Lilly.”

Why? Who are you? How do you know me?

Too many questions to ask, too much confusion:

Why don’t these damn eyes open?

All I want is to go home and see mom;

No one here has the eyes to see,

Except for the voice to speak and ears to hear;

Mr.Strange, who are you? How do you know me?

We all know each other, Little quick or little late;

It has taken you a complete life to know me,

For me, I have known you forever;

Heard you cry coming out from your mothers’ womb,

Heard your giggles playing in the corners of the street;

You were alive not late came your death,

I was around, took your hand and let you sleep for a while;

Here you are awake and alive again,

Living your after death, or should we call it dying?

This is it? Am I already dead?

Can I not go back and see my mother again?

No, you can’t. Learn to hear her from now,

Love isn’t in vision but in the feeling you experience;

But why do we not have a vision in this so-called dead world?

Here you are, I love it, the curiosity of being a kid,

They say the dead world isn’t for crimes and hence, no vision;

Really? If everything can be felt, then how can vision stop crime?

Oh dear, don’t you know that eyes are mischievous,

They are the keepers of attraction;

Oh! Is it? Funny it is to hear that, how idiotic is that expression!

Let my mother come; I shall ask her all questions,

Why do you say that? Ask me all you got in your head;

What you say is pointless like a blind won’t perform crime,

Brilliant is for you to ask that, but little one do you know?

How will one commit a crime when you know no form?

It is you who said that we just don’t have eye;

Does that mean that everything is as such, my dear Lilly?

We might touch the things and know, how is it around;

But are you sure that everyone can sense the touch?

Or are you sure that everything here has hands?

Wonderful it is! To live in doubts like this,

Haha! No, it is death so dying, right?

Yes, my Lilly, now you get it all, you sure are intelligent,

 I still have certain questions which sure don’t follow any equation;

Let my mommy come, I will ask her in person, Only if she could listen,

 Yes, my Lilly, let’s wait till your mother arrives in heaven.

Let’s know what happens after Lillys’ mother meets her in next part.


Sitting at my 
window, I was watching
the stars; Waiting for the moon to go
down, For the sun to
rise; To the eyes
those were red, To the lips
those were
pale, To the wrist
that was
bleeding, To the bed that got wet, To the calm and restless wind, To the tomorrow without me, My heart could
only answer
that Hope is a funny thing. It was time to
stop my painful nights, Time to forget
all that
happened; But one last I
could remember
them all, One last time
before I
vanish; The deeper my
memories run, The deeper I
remember the
cuts; From that
misery, I have
brought To the people I made suffer; From the
stranger who
laid a hand on
me To the lovers
who are nothing but err; From the
friends who
called if need
be To the amigos
who stood by
me; From the
toxicity which
surrounded me To the
vengeance I
have spread; From the glory
that I carried To the pain
that is
clouded; The gifts of
destiny are
dangerous More mysterious than we expect; I destroyed
myself not
knowing that Hope is a funny thing. I am just as
pathetic as any other human, Just as cruel
as any other
slaughterer; Today I stand
between my life and death, Hoping for
forgiveness to
come to me, Good fortune to strike; But I have
lived enough to know That good
riddance is
more than good; Waiting for my
veins to drain As I now know
that Hope is a
funny thing.