It was Tuesday night. I returned home late from office, well past midnight. I was so tired that could barely decipher written words. But typed random thoughts for an hour.
It must have been 2:30 am when I went to bed. My exhaustion prevented me to sleep. I was numb. I was not sleeping; the red light on Internet modem was flickering rhythmically.
Soon, I experienced shaking of my bed, albeit mildly. Earthquake, not again!
Last time, I felt similar tremors was three days ago when a major earthquake hit Northern India with epicentre in the province of Sikkim. I switched on the television, news channels confirmed a major earthquake.
Sikkim is partially decimated, the death count is reaching hundred, landslides and rains have hampered the rescue operations there.
My mother, my sister and her daughter stay in the Thimphu, capital city of Bhutan, not very far from Sikkim. They stayed outdoors for couple of hours in the chilling winds before they felt safe enough to enter the house.
Now, this has happened the second time in three days. I call my family in Thimphu. They were sleeping, did not answer to my calls. I switched on the television and waited for news channels to confirm another earthquake. The confirmation did not come. The shaking of ground this time was not real, just a perception.
Next day newspapers reported some traumatised survivors in Sikkim still perceive walls and floor shaking. I am traumatised too, it seems. That is why, perhaps, every night I wait for my bed to shake without me causing it.
My bond with family is strong and sticky.
I am sure tonight my bed is not going to shake. It better not.