Pre-sleep

No hour is sacred anymore.

I still remember how it was a few years ago. Lights out was eleven, eyes out was twelve, and then we would all proceed to dream. Nothing could breach the sanctity, not through a big screen, neither through a smaller one. We couldn't call anyone post eleven or twelve. We wouldn't dare stay up, on some days. Staying up till one was a big deal. And since few others were doing it, those hours were sacred. Late-night radio used to be a thing. The quiet streets felt like places of worship, silence broken only by crickets and frogs and others who were here before we were. Three was the magic hour, a spectacle to behold, an achievement for a sixteen year old pair of eyes and a mind that simultaneously felt much younger and older.

Then as I grew up, the sanctity started fading away. Everyone was staying up till increasingly late hours. You could text and call post twelve. That's a milestone, you see, because post twelve it's another day. It's the meaningless technical boundary between today and tomorrow, between late night and early morning, and yet its crossing was a ritual of adolescence, a veritable rite de passage. The nights were brighter and louder and the radio programming changed slowly until every night was just a prelude to the next day, piped lift music playing before we would arrive at our destinations, unobtrusive, unremarkable.

One became an acceptable time to go to sleep, for everyone. It wasn't quite as thrilling anymore. No flashlights under blankets to read those last few chapters, because now you could just leave the lights on. It's something I see as a loss. But seeing loss is like seeing a clock move. Every second registers. Every little change, you can see it happen. The late-night radio jockeys with their smooth voices were going away. You couldn't begin your tea-and-book ritual at the magic hour because there was no magic hour, eventually. You have friends all over the world now, and someone is always up. Everyone you know stays up late. Three and four, those objects of temporal reverence, have faded away into crushing normalcy. It's not called seeing the dawn if you never slept in the first place. There is no such thing as late night and early morning, a night is too late only if you're tired and a morning is too early only if you're tired. The hours have lost their power, it's only our failing that makes them remarkable anymore.

It seems that even the crickets and frogs have learned. I wonder if they think of it in similar terms as I do. It's not really a great leap between revering marks on the clock, and anthropomorphizing reptiles and insects. It will be neither the most, nor the least strange thing I do today, and today of course goes on till three o clock tomorrow. Because that's how it is now. Sometimes I dream of power cuts visiting me like old songs that show up on shuffle and remind you of how things used to be. You usually hit skip, because you're an insufferable know-it-all who knows that nostalgia has the Latin root for pain in it, but when you're feeling particularly brave, you let it play on, because songs meant something and clocks meant something, too.

Sometimes, the residual magic does try to remind you that it exists. Or maybe you make it up. It doesn't matter at this point, it's all the same shade of sepia. But just in case, keep your eyes and ears open when the clock hits three. Maybe you'll hear or see something, and that's nice.

But magic will be when you hear and see nothing at all. It's a sacred hour, you see. Sometimes, the entire universe has enough faith to stay silent out of reverence. You'll hear yourself breathe, but that's alright. It's how we usually pray around these parts.