Illusion

Illusion was indistinguishable from reality. I switched off my perception of reality and believed it never existed. I felt the air that flown through my nasals were meagre conincidence and supportive that I was alive materially. I was on the rear seat of the car and couldn't see more than flat darkness. When I dared open the windows, the chill filled the ambiance inside. Some trees were visible but looked ghastly in the full moon. Speed was low as we were unsure of the way to my hometown. We got mislead in dark and have gone quite far from the right place. It was quite late and generally all the villagers were fast asleep except the elderly people who suffered paranoia.

We stopped. I din't step out. Someone else who accompanied me got out and asked the local guy about 'Mehboobganj'. He beckoned some direction that wasn't rosy in first look. But we din't had no other choice. We went ahead and finally we reached a point where I felt, 'YES' , this place looks identifiable. Now in every chill, I felt, I could sense warmth of belongness. Now all the trees I saw seemed inviting me to my own land. Now the canal that ran parallel to road, reflected full moon as though street light went along with us. Tender mustard leaves were dancing in rejoice. I couldn't imagine my motherland looked so beautiful in winters. That beauty couldn't fade my smile that persisted over the time.

Finally, I reached my house and saw many people whom I rarely seen in past years, were dancing, singing and rejoicing not for my arrival but for the occassion that I never termed as occassion, my marriage. I went atop, on the terrace. Stretched my legs and arms so as to loosen the gravity it gained while sitting for a long time in the car. I breathed high and looked above, glanced the moon, who glittered relentlessly. Stars were bright. Some were moving. I guess one of them must be satellite. But how does it matter. It all looks the same. The singing, dancing faded. I looked around. Greenary was not visible in the moon light. But it certainly engendered vivid pictures of how it will look in the morning. Someone called me, 'Bhaiyya'. I saw the silhouette of an old lady, my grandmother who got dinner for me. After finishing my dinner, I slept on the couch under the open sky, looking in the stars, thinking nothing as though reality didn't exist to think much about, as though illusion was what I saw and heard, as though I was hallucinating, as though my eyes closed and dreamed and saw nothing more than what I could see with them right open.