Alive In Shadow: Living with dyslexia; an inspirational story

by Shishir Paudel

  ALIVE IN

  SHADOW I

  The Shadow

  It was a casual evening, everything was as usual. Partially lying down on my couch, I was relaxing my exhausted mind and immobilized–fatigued body. Time was gently darkened with the ticking sound from the angle of wall –One table lamp and some flickering rays crossing from open kitchen door were all that were lightening my living room.

  I glide my head on the smooth surface of the couch, directing my vision slightly towards the kitchen, Shiraz wine bottles were staring at me, right through the door –wetting my mouth. I shifted my sight to avoid the temptation of that moment but got stuck at the corner of a desk –some Surya cigarettes were peeping out from there, as well. Felt as if they were eagerly asking me to take their company and relax blowing all anxiety in smoke.

  Lost on the vile of seduction by Shiraz –I was tranquillized till the end of the last burning cigarette. As the cigarette ended and the flame touched me –giving a little pinch of burn on my finger, I found myself covered in the fog of smoke –created by my own breath. Everything went foggy for a while.

  I pushed my couch, struggling awhile to lift myself up –stabilizing my stability, but with the trembling constancy I got on a quick of my own creation. I knocked off the table lamp, breaking it. Fearful darkness surrounded me as the kitchen flicker was derisory in that darkness. Tenebrous forlorn night was over me and I was surrounded by the silence of that darkness… All there was –was the tick-and-tock of timer, reminding me, time was slipping away and darkness was growing stronger with every episode of pendulum swing.

  Trembling, I went to the kitchen. My hand reached for the Khukri Rum bottle desiring few sip. Lighting small piece of candle I return back to the living room –replacing the candles with instantly broken lamp, I looked at the fire place –it was vacated for years but some dry logs were nearby. I arranged the firewood –poured some wine on the logs –flamed them. Rapidly logs seized the fire; gradually the darkness was gone as the warmth was resorted through the fireplace.

  I got into my previous position parking on the couch.

  Feeling the aroma and tang from every sip of wine, I was taking –which was traveling all the way from the wine glass to my throat. Craved in the intense sensation flowering throughout my body, sensing my heartbeat form my carotid artery, I was lost watching the dancing flames at the chimney corner.

  Flames were not just drawing off the darkness of the night but they were also assembling some unknown feelings flourishing inside me. That fraction of time was eccentric yet peaceful –felt like something I was searching from long before was there, it was a moment of peace and relief.

  That night after a long time I took my typewriter out of my closet, in anticipation to fulfill the will of impression that calmness of that moment to the core of my soul–making it alive forever.

  Everything was still and calm for a while –the tacking sound of the typewriter was stopped as I was stopped, after typing few words in the blank sheet.

  All was silent as I was lost on the world of thoughts until he smashed the wine glass on the wall –Silence screamed in his tear as he was flooded in unknown sea of emotion. That was the time when he brought himself in existence.

  He was a ghost, who got tangible that night. His shadow sauntered that house for years as his reflection were noticeable many times at mirror.

  I thought, I have had heard him many times before but never knew he was there for real. But He was, always, there converting my irrational thoughts into some sense full creation. With him, letters used to make words and words used to get rhythm and he used to sing a melody out of nil.

  And that night, he was there in the shadows of the darkness. I was unable to recognize him in the cloak of that darkness. He appears faceless, shapeless, all there was –was his voice as the voice of the clock from the invisible time. All I was able to see were his red cryptic eyes.

  I asked him – What’s bothering you, friend?

  “Nothing”– he said

  "Nothing… I assume your nothing holds much more in reality."- I inquired back.

  He said –"there’s something buried deep down the core and he wanted to let it out, eagerly." With his verbal expression, I assumed it was something really precious to him, something he has lost control over and maybe that night that something gave him subsistence.

  ‘What is it?’

  With a pause in his breath he said, “There are some stories of time that I don’t want to forget. I want to imprint them permanently somewhere so that they will illustrate me what is lost with time. When I look back at the past that I have crossed through, I don’t remember much but whatever that is left in my memories, is what I want to encrypt in words. And search for myself, when I am completely lost.”

  Lost???

  He looked me being surprised then turned his sight – staring at the wall he added, “I was in a run my friend...Running from my past, running from my duty, running from my pain, running from who I used to be. And I am still running."

  He looked me in the mirror, and continued, "I love this speed, maybe that’s why I don’t want to control it, but I know one day I will stop for sure after getting tired of all this. And at that time of stopping, there will be an instance when I have to ask who I am and I should accept the truth of how I used to be. But I’m afraid at that time I might get lost. Lost in mirage, created as by the consequences of this uncontrolled blinding speed, lost forgetting the reality, forgetting who I was and what I have become with time, forgetting how far I have come, and what is left behind. Forgetting to see does the morning has ever shined upon me – was all this run worth full. Forgetting to ask myself do the tenebrous tides of time has ended, or have I started running for nothing, and there’s nothing at the ending.”

  So what’s the problem? What’s stopping you?

  Staring at the wall painted by the wine he just spilled -he said, “There are the unclear memories of time, time that’s old, dusted and they are escaping from my mind. Each memory is more like this broken wineglass. All I desire is to join the fraction like a puzzle. All I am willing is to fill the cracks completely. But I don’t know where I shall begin with and I don’t know what end will bring to–upon me. Every time when I memorize I just get lost in the reminiscences, then I find it hard to encrypt by ink as tears wash all my words from psyche and I get blank, as a canvas without any art –without any meaning. Instead of any words from memories I just get tears and disgrace. Portion of events scratches the heart out of me. Moments of happiness are so few that I remember as the tribulation from the scourge of life and moment of forlorn by the tenebrous tide are most that I memorize. Then it felt like there’s nothing I got to write, there’s nothing to share. Nothing, except complete blankness.”

  Completing his words he left the room and it felt as if cold wind had just passed away, taking all the voices along with it –silence was restored again.

  I raised the candle towards the wall, my consciousness got vanished watching the flow of red wine on the blue wall, and it was like sky was bleeding that night –Silently.

  “I might not be able to write it but I can narrate” –his voices penetrated from the other room. Felt like small unit of current had just touched me –flowing all over my body, making me regain my vanished wits.

  Waking

  “Babu….. Sohan…”

  It was like I was dreaming; I saw my mother, staring right in front of me. Her eyes were locked gazing at me, with tears. Her hands –they were waving, flipping near to my cornea as she was calling me frequently. Everything was like an unclear
vision with the fogy imageries; it was like I was hallucinating. Nothing felt to be real.

  Eyes got shut and complete darkness occupied me …

  “Babu!!!”

  There she calls again. I opened my eyes reacting to her voice. She was sitting right by my side as I hallucinated. There was a smile on her lips and tears rolling down to her cheeks.

  “Doctor–doctor; he’s up…he is awake” –she shouted with a rush of happiness and relief in her tone.

  Then again complete darkness covered me and I got enfolded in blankness.

  I was seven years old when that first occurred to me; it is the starting point from where my memory, or shall I say, my journey began. For me, my consciousness was born that day, watching the street lights out of the window as the color of the silver moon was smoggy, by the nights clouds in that darkness.

  Why am I here mom? Why am I in hospital? Is anything wrong with me? Puzzled and terrified I enfolded myself in her arms.

  She said nothing. She just smiled with cascade of tear on her eyes. Then she kissed my forehead and whispered enfolding me more tightly. “You fell off –you’re fine that’s all what’s matters darling, sleep well now.”

  I grabbed her hand, holding it closely towards my heart –napped in the warmth of her love.

  Days later I was discharged from the hospital…

  All my past memories were lost; they were simply vanished as if it was like I was just born that day. All I remember are the hospital beds and that street lights sparkling through the window glass on the dark hours of time.

  So for me my life was started after I was seven and since then, the tenebrous tide of time got on track and I am waiting for a morning to shine upon me, hoping for time of glee will arrive soon. .

  I was blank …….completely….

  Few weeks later, after getting discharged from the hospital –things were supposed to get normal as I was back to school. It was a strange feeling that I was getting there –I didn’t remember a thing about that place, no portion of memory was there to remind me about it. Each and everything was new and strange.

  Something was wrong for sure, maybe with me –but what that was, I was unaware of. In many ways I was slower than the other kids; I was weaker. I was alone, lonelier than anyone ever was at that age.

  I was in grade three but still I had problems with the simple English alphabets. I had problems navigating directions and movements, in comparison to the kids of my age. Habitually I used to commit mistakes while writing my own name.

  I used to misplace some words and letters, even while writing simplest words and phrases. The most common mistake I used to make was with the letters b and d, and sometimes with w and m. Unconsciously, I used to shuffle some of the words like who and how –being puzzled on their word pattern –changing the meaning of the statement completely.

  It was English test paper I remember; I was panicking and nervous. Miss. Rasme asked all of us to stop writing, and to submit the papers quickly writing our name on the top. Panicking, I committed one small mistake; I wrote my name as Sohan Abhikari –getting nervous and confused.

  Miss. Rasme called me in front of the class. She asked me to read what I have written on the paper. I read, Sohan Adhikari –that was my name and I didn’t have to read it for confirmation –I was unacquainted about the mistake I made.

  She asked me to read it again, and I read it as she said. Then at last snatching the paper from my hand she said –“Class your friend here has written his name as Sohan Abhikari…”

  “Abhikari!!! Abhikari…” Whole class jingled and laughed.

  It was a small mistake I committed but that small mistake of mine became the reason for years of embarrassment and mortification – probably, it made me suffer for all of my childhood.

  Jingle of Abhikari spread like a wildfire moving vigorously from ears to ears. At the end of the week whole school was buzzing the jingle about me and my weaknesses. With the ongoing rumor with time Abhikari turned into A-Bhikari (A-beggar), and a new hearsay emerged projecting me as a beggar. As it was blowing from ears to ears, time was getting worse for me. Everyone exposed to the gossip started bullying.

  Literally there was not a single person at my school –from classmates to senior who didn’t taunt me.

  They used to come near –asking my name, harassing me until I got busted in tears, until I ran away. I was the part of their amusement to remove their aggravation from teacher’s lecture.

  There was not a single day in my childhood where tears was absent from my eyes. There was not a single fraction of time were I didn’t felt humiliated and reviled my existence. No one was there to understand me or guide me in those worse days –in those days of loneliness.

  Everywhere I went –I started seeing people’s eyes staring at me and the giggle with surprised looks over their face used to make me feel as if they were gossiping all about me and only me… Maybe that was because of the harassment I went through making me fear the presence of people around me.

  At school I was the weakest among all. And at home I used to feel like I was the useless child incapable of doing anything right. Every time when I willed to do something good– I failed leading to destruction and disappointment. I never got the proper attention from my teachers as they always used to punish or harass me in front of all –despite guiding me.

  No one knew what I was going through not even my parents neither did I. I was a cursed child with the burden of Dyslexia. It was a rare disorder which most people didn’t know about.

  I failed every test, every exam that I was put into. I saw my parents begging –pleading, in front of the school authority for the sake of my future. I saw them sacrificing their dignity, their pride all for me and because of my failure.

  The school authority always used to grade me up every year saying it will be the last time. Every year it was the same story. I used to grade up just because of my parent’s pleading. Every year I used to see them sacrificing… and nothing except guilt used to surround me, making me to cry alone.

  And hated myself even more.

  Knocked Down

  Looking out of the window, watching a crow at the tree top, I was lost in my own world of imagination. I had once heard that the crow has a good attention and it is really fast in showing reflexes but it has a slow mind as it can be fooled easily. I was a fool, with a slow mind but I was slower in reflexes too, that made me a loser even in comparison to a crow.

  I was crawling in the land of imagination where crow was my rival until that rivalry was wrecked by a piece of sandstone strikes my forehead. It was Mr. Pun.

  “Sohan you fool, stand up ya…..,

  Read that paragraph from page number 84 for me, and make sure everyone hear it–clearly.”

  I got up shaking and nervous, my hands were trembling –holding the book. My lips got dry as if I was severely dehydrated in an instant with shriveled saliva, unknown obstruction hindered my throat. I didn’t spell a word. Every time when I tired, words and letters got shuffled and I got blank.

  “Sohan, I can’t hear you, read it louder” – he said.

  I didn’t speak a word –just went numb.

  “Louder”, he yelled. Coming closer to my set he yelled again, “Louder and clear”.

  “I can’t”, I nodded.

  “You can’t …”

  He got angry; burning on the blaze of aggression, he slapped with all the force that he got –making his hands, imprint over my cheek. I was down, in tears, in pain along with the unknown numbness. I was injured, badly, my gums were bleeding.

  I rushed home, locking myself in my room, I cried until the tears were completely shrunken. I didn’t want my parents to know any of it so I decided to let it slide –saying nothing to them. That time I didn’t want to affix more to their sorrow.

  I just closed my door, slightly, and got to bed, covering my wounded face utterly by thin blanket.

  I was exhausted, maybe because of all the pain and tears I flooded –soon eye
s went heavy and I got into a deep sleep.

  ***

  The same event occurred again… I was watching out of the window continuing the rivalry with the crow until Mr. Pun yelled at me, making me to read the paragraph from the page 84 again –and again, I got up shaking, being wordless.

  But this time, he was not just angry; he got mad at my repeated action.

  “Sohan” he roared –dragging me out of my seat –pulling me to the front of the classroom.

  He made me stand at the front stage. Unbuckling his leather belt he swung it, striking right at my left thigh. Then the belt started raining all over my body giving agony of pain. He was so blind in anger that he didn’t ever notice nor did he care about where he was striking. He just kept on swinging– until the bell buzzed. With the buzzing bell regulating classes to end, he also brought his lunacy to an end and went off without saying anything.

  I was down on the front stage of class while the whole class was staring at me; all were quiet for a moment watching me tormented. I tried to lift myself up but I was immobilized in pain, I was failing each attempt to get onto my feet. In about a count of seconds the entire class started giggling over my loosing attempts.

  I was just quietly attempting, hearing those cracking laughter, holding my tears. I didn’t want to cry, not in front of them.

  I went home, locked myself again crying the entire day.

  Unknown inflexibility was over my legs. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked at my thighs– it was wounded. In every inch difference there were blue and dark marks which were extremely painful when they were stretched. I was bleeding slightly. I was swamped on tears.

  That night I was able to hide everything from my parents but next day the pain got worse. I got immobilized on bed, struggling to lift myself up but my legs, my body were rejecting my effort. Each failing trial was aggregating more and more to my pain. At last I broke and shouted for help.

  My mother rushed in, in response to my crying. “It’s a bad dream darling you were in a deep sleep”, switching on the light toggle she said.