From the diaries of someone who alternates between Owls and Bears in matters related to sleep
As a child I despised sleep, found a myriad ways and excuses for hiding from my mama during afternoon siestas and bedtime( which used to be 9 pm). But even when mother would tuck me in, turn of the lights, I would remain awake, sometimes past 10pm, sometimes past 11pm( I used to feel pretty adventurous), but despite sleeping at odd times, I would invariably wake up with dawn, sometimes of my own accord, mostly due to sheer terror of my father’s wrath. For he used to be a patient dad( he is mostly a marshmallow now) otherwise, but if you were to disobey his One Rule, which was to get out of bed before the Sun rises, you were in for a searing lecture, which would be followed by a grueling Math/Science session , by the end of which you would be sweating through your eyes. My father also kept a handheld fan ( haath pakha in bengali) ready during those punishment fueled sessions. To be fair, he never used it on me, but its presence was enough to terrorize my sleep deprived mind.
If anyone wants to know, this is what it looks like:
As an adult, a good night’s slumber for me is as regular as sighting a lunar eclipse.
The constant deluge of content served on our smartphones and tablets have exiled sleep to a faraway castle. You can sense it, hear its echo, but can’t experience it fully.
I know sleep exists, but honestly, what I make do with these days is mostly Deep Sleep or Yoga Nidra.
I so wish to go back to the time when my father’s strict rules ensured I could serenade sleep uninterrupted.
Fingers in symphony 