Zen and the art of making arhar ki dal - Part II

More adventures of Al...

Al had fainted. When he came to a little while later, he felt groggy, hung over on his own misery. Lying there on the cold hard floor of the kitchen he felt like he would never rise. Things looked a lot different when he was now. The kitchen counter loomed before him like an intractable rock-face. The window, that big bright window let in rays of the sun just shy of where he lay. Ordinary, everyday things seemed scary and forbidding.

He lay there till he lost count of time and till he had coaxed every nerve cell into slow, painful submission. When he finally rose, the day had ended. The sky was a bright shade of red, the clouds scurrying for cover into the recesses of the night. It all looked so pretty” and seemed to mock Al with its raw beauty. A burst of wind suddenly caught the trees Al was looking at. They swayed and shook and he shivered. Even though the window was closed, he was aware of how cold it must be.

The part that hurt him the most was the never ending restlessness and the bottomless feeling at the pit of his stomach. Every move, every thought, was magnified by some gigantic lens and was painful to go through. Even inaction was not bereft of its own exquisite agony. Everywhere he turned, blinded by the pain, he saw it. There was no escape.