Sleep Saga
by Rudy Ravindra
Putting behind the broken hearts and broken dreams of a previous life, Rani and I came together with the fervent hope that it would be different and much better this time around. When we were married, some fourteen years back, we used to sleep in a queen bed. Like all newlyweds, we slept in a tight embrace, limbs intertwined, oblivious to each other’s quirks—my snoring or her tossing and turning. During those early days of our marriage, the bed was a place where we cemented our bond, night after night, and slept only when we were replete with connubial bliss. We slept deeply, drugged with the pleasure of our new found love.
Gradually, we discovered each other’s strengths and susceptibilities, and fads and foibles. In the beginning, we made allowances for each other’s idiosyncrasies, and by and large learned to compromise and evolved a modus vivendi. But when the novelty wore off, the ardor was no longer as urgent, minor fissures began to surface in an almost imperceptible manner. Rani complained about my strange legs. Sometimes my legs shook rather vigorously, while I was about to fall off to sleep or even when I was in deep sleep. My doctor said that I had restless leg syndrome, and prescribed a medicine. But my irrepressible legs were refractory. And then there was Rani’s involuntary habit of “tenting”—bending her knee straight up, with the quilt over her leg like a tent. I was deprived of cover, and on a wintry night, it was not pleasant to suddenly wake up cold and shivering. I wondered how she was able to sleep so deeply throughout the tenting episode. We discussed the situation in a calm and cool manner, and concluded that we needed separate quilts.
There we were, trying to sleep on a queen bed with two bulky down comforters. It appeared as if the bed was taken over by the comforters, and it was anything but comfortable. On the other hand, it was cramped and stifling, and we tossed and turned, and slept fitfully.
More deliberations and heated arguments later, we decided to invest in a king-size bed.
Rani, who can’t be accused of penny-pinching, decided that we shop at an exorbitantly expensive furniture store. The sales lady, with bright red lipstick and false eye-lashes batted her eyelids frequently as if she had tics. Anyway, we saw a few beds—sleigh beds, platform beds, four-poster beds, and others. The sales lady laid on each bed with her arms stretched and eyes closed, as if to demonstrate the somniferous effect of each bed. The display of her somewhat bodacious body irritated the already restless Rani. She nudged me to get out of that place. I made a feeble excuse and walked to our car. Rani was very upset, and accused me of ogling that woman instead of paying proper attention to the beds. I said very convincingly that when my dear wife—the ravishing Rani, who didn’t need any makeup nor lipstick to enhance her sultry and dusky looks was by my side, why would I even glance at another woman. My passionate words had the desired effect, and Rani’s raging fires were doused. Also, I was relieved that we saved a lot of money by not falling for the tic lady’s sales pitch.