Sound Sleep!

When I try to think of ten things that civilization should be wary of, I could not think of beyond one and the only horror that has been my nightmare, snoring. Spine chills and a knot raises from the pit of my stomach to the cavity of my throat. Such have been my experiences!

 

         It all started with the arrival of my grandmother when I was eight. She was the one who taught me why people call it a sound sleep. She slept and around her we made an eager crowd trying to catch some sleep during those intervals when the noise goes from alto to falsetto. She wakes up at some unearthly hour and looks down upon us as the scum from the lowest of the middle earthlings who do not know what precious offerings they are losing by wallowing in that attention-effacing slumber. Thus my childhood was a blur between counting my barely sufficient hours of sleep and observing the way the transverse waves of the sound rebound from the walls and the ceiling.

        This bleary eyed state continued into my college days when my roommate in the hostel proved to be an obedient and in-absentia follower of my grandmother. His was a classic one, the early stage starts like a bee humming about in a serious search of nectar, then gradually ascends to the sound of a hippopotamus courting its fairer counterpart on a pleasant tropical noon. Then it used to stabilize around 45-50 decibels resembling a mix between a gurgling crocodile and an idle mooing of a pregnant cow. He got all upset when I gave all these comparisons and denied defiantly any connection between the giant sound wave that rocked our room during the previous night and his innocent sweet sleep. He claimed I get worked up because of my jealousy of his siesta.

          This continued even when I used to leave to some unknown place on train, bus or flight. My unknown companion on these journeys, without exception, was never a pretty girl with hazel eyes, bewitching smile and sensational figure (I was a great fan of serendipitous stories which made Mills and Boon, a billion-dollar publication house). It would be always an aged specimen with absolutely Spartan habits who would look at my unhealthy countenance and grimace before slipping slowly into that dreamless reverie and of course, what else, start emanating that racket a la gentle baying of a moonstruck wolf into the night. And I, as always, try to dream without sleeping, of sleep in a silent room.  

      So obviously when my marriage has become imminent, as often happens in our country, my choice hinged on only one criterion, “she should not snore” with capital letters, underlined and in bold script too. There was only one way of finding out. So during our long premarital conversations that disregarded the enormous phone bills and invaluable time, I ventured out once,” Do you, eh.. you know, er.. happen to snore?”. After a moment’s stunned silence the indignant voice from the other side assured me of its noiselessness during the sleep. Thanking the almighty for his blessings and generosity, I floated onto my marriage.

  

        That was the third day after our marriage. After all the tiring events and head-spinning rituals, we thought of catching up with some sleep before proceeding to my place for starting that happy, long married life. I was woken up exactly after thirty-two minutes and stared at my wife. Her mouth was slightly open, and a gentle, rhythmic and musical din was slowly filling the room. I was looking at her and my whole life started reeling before my eyes, both the past and the future. 

 When do I get to sleep after all?