When you are three decades rich, you think you have earned the right to make yourself believe in the magic of Life, and the picture-perfect control you have on your daily events.Its as if you have taken the birth of the morning, the very act of opening your eyes and expecting the day’s events to start from that moment on - all  for granted. There is almost this sheer cocoon of gossamer, woven with our invincibility that effortlessly swish around us, as we go around the day, meeting people, holding a loved one’s hand, making plans for another day.
And it is with this same unshakable, impregnable faith in your being that confidently allows you to close your eyes and lull yourself to sleep, as the next morning is already in your plans.
A good-night wish is almost like an unspoken command for the morning to be there for you to wake up to.
And what if ,in one masterstroke, in the dead of the night, Providence tears up all those plans, including that inviolable gown you wear all round, with disdain into the Cosmic dustbin?
And taps you gently on your shoulder for some much needed sensibility?
Ever had a moment of truth like that?
Well, yours truly had.
For a brief moment of weightlessness, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, you can feel your neurons transmitting deeply confusing and disorienting slivers of transmission a million times more than it is accustomed to, and it courses through, futile, but imminent.
And you are suddenly awake, up, bolt upright, with your bed linens sticking to your damp back, finding progressively difficult to breathe.
One part of your brain is calmly assessing the immediate physical symptoms, running a mental checklist against all possible infractions that could happen, while the other part has turned deeply philosophical. You realize there is a profound weariness and a calm that comes before tentative acceptance  that is almost steeped in weary despair.
And you faintly hear a question directed at somebody that you just can’t seem to place in your stream of logic. It still faintly echoes around your cavernous head, ” Is this really happening? Has the Moment arrived? “
Before you realize, calls are made, and you are on the way to the City Hospital’s Emergency Room.
Ever noticed how the hospital interiors have an air of clinical detachment about them? Everything is cold and impersonal and a stranger unto you. The bed that holds the memories of a thousand hurt souls that went before but never shows, the expensive cardiac equipment that has seen worse, the monotone of the weary Doctor on his graveyard shift, the methodical and sleepy Nurse, the gossip and banter that seem to bounce off the disinfectant-rich walls, all bathed in suffusing, impersonal, industrial Light.
Ever noticed them?
The jaded yet somehow alert Intern’s professional fingers pat, pause, feel, sense, stroke and whittle.
Meanwhile the Savant of Senses inside your Head is preparing itself for the long ride ahead.
Another half-hour of observation is decided upon.
The immediacy of the event somehow seems to have weakened.
You are half awake, half content, with mechanical plastic tendrils that have suddenly turned messengers from your body, relaying cryptic messages that are discernible only to them and the Doctor.
More of poking, patting and dabbing.
A muted whisper from the White Coat. An immediate sigh of relief beside the headboard. There is nothing to worry about.
The Hospital exacts its pound of flesh for the false alarm.
On the ride back, with a packet of ‘just-in-case’ medication in my lap, I lean out hungrily,into the balmy night.
The cool breeze seems to be whispering something as it brushes past my face.
It seemed to be holding a hurried conversation with the Other part of me, now awake.
The breeze seems amused with what has happened and gifts me with an extended caress.
It feels good to be alive again. And a little more humbled.
“Tomorrow’s going to be another working day,why don’t you try to get some rest”,says Mr.Supreme Confidence,looking a bit shaken,now back in control.
I smile.