End of Days

This article was written a while ago and put on ice, due the fact that my lovely wife thought it did not portray me in a kindly light. Considering the dry run I have been having with writing anything at all, I thought I would go ahead and post it anyway. If you do not hear from me again, you know why :-).

What is it about people that they want to turn night into day? I have never understood this fascination with staying up late and partying into the wee hours, concept. It is supposedly cool to sleep at 03.00 am and then get up at midday to start the exciting routine again. If you desire to be in bed at a decent hour, it is seen as a sign of old age, and heaven forbid wanting to turn in before midnight on a weekend night. It can easily be construed as ill health or an early sign of the onset of depression.

Ever since I can remember, I have been one to follow the normal diurnal patterns followed by our ancestors since the dawn of time. Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise, was the dictum oft repeated, when I wanted to stay up late on any particular night. Maybe I was too gullible but I have followed that through out my life, much to the chagrin of my friends, my spouse and my colleagues. To this day almost everyone I know will make pointed remarks about my lack of desire to imitate the owls. I have never thought of myself as aged, or lacking in energy, but have been made to feel like a geriatric, whenever I have mentioned the possibility of turning in early on a weekend night. As if my body clock should automatically reset itself every seven days in sync with the end of the week, so that I can party all night long.

To make matters worse, most people around me do not suffer from the same affliction (if you can call it that), making my predicament all the more difficult to understand and empathize with. It makes me sick to see people completely charged up at midnight, looking forward to a few more hours of merriment. I remember growing up as a kid, the competition amongst various groups as to who would stay out latest. On a night like New Years Eve, it reached epic proportions, with some people I know coming back the next day - post breakfast! Of course these people had won a lasting victory over the other nerds who had called it a day by 05.00 am. And God forbid if your parents had a curfew going ...my parents were the sort who never had any curfew, we could stay out as late as we liked and were trusted to do the right thing. Many’s the times I have cursed them for not having imposed any curfew. At least that would have given me a legitimate excuse to curl up in bed at a time of my choosing. I remember I had once tried to tell my friends that I had a time limit to return home - my friends had laughed so hard, that it took all of my efforts to ensure that, that did not become the talking point for the next week.

Late nights have caused quite a bit of stress, sometimes (I have felt) even more so than the angst that exams have given me. Just knowing that a late night is imminent is generally enough to make me feel uneasy. I am sure that if I were to diarize the days on which I have had the most headaches, Thursday would take the sweepstakes easily (Thursday being the weekend in the Middle East). This has been the subject of countless debates and arguments with my wife over the years. She would call me a party pooper or a spoilsport, for ruining a weekend night by not being game to hang out till late. My monophonic argument always was and continues to be - why can't we meet earlier and spend the same number of hours AND be home in time to sleep early. Why don’t they have nightclubs where you go to dance by 07.00 pm and are out the door by 10.30 pm? I guess they could be called eveclubs!

Even the times that we have actually gone out to shake a leg, I remember the sheer claustrophobia of being confined to a huge, dark, smoke filled room, filled with drunk and sweaty gyrating strangers. The beat of the music (if you could call it that) would feel like the grim reaper playing a drum inside my skull, with my cerebrospinal fluid as the only cushion preventing me collapsing from sensory overload. The battering that my brain got from the music would last well into the next morning.

Business travel with colleagues (well friends) was another time of concern, with most of them thinking nothing of greeting the dawn before turning in. Quite often the plan would start with meeting for dinner between 09.00 and 09.30 pm. Normally someone, either from the host country or our travelling group, would delay meeting us due to a sudden telephone call or traffic or whatever. We would mill around at the meeting point, normally the lobby of our hotel, with a splinter group going out for a smoke. By the time the venue was decided, I would be sweating profusely from the tension of knowing that it would be a good 5 hours or so before I saw my bed. The first mention of dinner would be at 11.00 pm, by which time I would be waving the last wisps of my appetite goodbye. A hearty meal would be followed by desserts, prolonging the already interminable meal. Of course I knew that someone would ask about tea or coffee to follow - but knowing that did not prevent me leaping out of my skin when the words actually come out. By this time I would be ready to shoot the person who asked about the post dinner beverages, and feel like strangling the waiter hovering around to take the orders.

Actually it is habituated late nights that I am not too fond of. You know the ones where people want to prolong an evening just because it is too early to disband. Why are we going home, it is only 11.00 pm and it is the weekend? So it is the time rather than the fact that is enjoyable, that dictates the length of the evening. Some evenings, it is never too early to leave!! Don’t you agree?