There’s something wrong with my head. Something’s always been wrong. As a kid, I used to have blackouts and stuff and my father had taken me to Hinduja Hospital for a brain scan. After the scan, the doctor peered into some ghoulish looking images of my brain. He then told my father, “Don’t worry Mr. Raut, there’s absolutely nothing there.”
Today, I feel so woozy and light. I feel as if I’m walking on air. And if I disregard the fever and the headache, I’m quite happy. I am zipping through Aarey and I sort of see orange tips on the large stalks of glass and some sort of purple congealed puddles in the middle of fields. Sometimes, when my head spins a little bit more, the world around acquires an iridescent sheen. So beautiful.
I want to go home, have soup, and sleep.
I want to go home and have soup.
I want to go home.