The Night was her favorite. It was calmer. It was cooler. It was quiet. It was time alone.
She wondered why children were scared of the dark. Why people, in general, feared the dark? Were they scared of monsters crouching behind them? They know it was not real. She bet that their own imagination was creating wild images and horror stories in their head. They struggled to walk while their eyes tried to make a clearer image with the little light possible. She didn’t fear the dark, she feared being blind. Being in permanent dark.
The night’s darkness felt like a cloak to her tears. It was refuge to the noise of the day. She loved brooding over things in the dark. The full moon nights were always welcome. The moon was the most beautiful thing the velvet sky ever offered to her vision. It didn’t burn like the sun, it glowed.
She considered herself a nocturnal creature. Though her mother did not encourage such late night habits, she enjoyed the fact that it was forbidden. Through her window pane, she watched the world go to sleep. One by one, all the apartments before her turned off the light, preparing to sleep. It was necessary for them. She too would have slept if she had had some commitment to keep up to the next morning. But there were no plans for tomorrow. It had been like this for awhile now. She thanked god, no one in particular, that she was awake to enjoy the night.
What she hated about the night? There was only one thing; the sudden barking of the street dogs. No, it never scared her. She simply thought of it as futile, the impotency of the violent howls. Nothing ever happened. The dogs continued their dog life. It irritated her; the fact that some creatures were born for living with such dishonor. She was never fond of animals. Her favorite was the wolf, though they belonged to the dog family. The wolf was wild. Although it is said that, “Barking dogs don’t bite,” she knew “barking wolves do.” The wolves symbolized rebellious strength, romantic howls, and its beautiful connection with the full moon night. She would love to be a wolf with thick, soft fur. She’d give anything to be a werewolf. ‘Human by day and wolf by night’ was a great deal her imagination offered.
Her window faced the west. She could see the moon easily as it set. The rays of the moonlight fell on her bed. She loved staring at the moon. It didn’t hurt her eyes. She talks to the moon often. She remembers having many mental dialogues with the moon. She was repetitive and talked about herself all the time. The irony was she hated people who went on and on about themselves. And here she was, complaining and being so self-absorbed. Maybe it was human tendency. But she loved the fact that she could connect with the moon in her own silly way. She sees a face on the new moon; roughly drawn by its craters and rock boulders. She never noticed the rabbit some people see on the moon. Until one night, while they were talking, her friend pointed it out to her. She was happy to see the moon through the friend’s eyes. She recalled the forgotten fable of the rabbit that the fairy placed on the moon for the world to remember its generosity to her.
She was often disappointed by the fact that she could never completely see the starry night sky. The ills of living in a city, she sighed. But that didn’t matter. A little concentration and blocking of the street lights helped sometime. The infinity of the sky, the universe never failed to amaze her. It both humbled her and made her proud of being part of the grand scheme of things.
The night is private. It was hers to claim. It was mystifying. It had its own stories to boast of. Stories that were romantic, stories of ghosts and souls, stories of murders and mysteries! It was like being in trance, some magical spell working in the silence. Slow, deep breaths of creatures in sleep, crickets singing to another nocturnal world awaking- she was witness to such beauty. It was serene. Everything seemed so poetic. Before she knows it, she is already asleep dreaming of love.
She loved the night.
Who was she? She was me.