Lost in slumber

When returning from a wedding venue late at night, my friend insisted that I stay at his place since mine was 16 km further. The idea was tempting, as we had much to catch up on after a year. On the other side, my wife, the sole occupant of our spacious house, was feeling particularly lonely those days. Sensing my dilemma, my friend proposed tossing a coin. Considering her sound sleep, I had an idea. If she answered my call in one go, I’d head home. Otherwise, I’d stay and enjoy extra happy hours with my friend rather than disrupting her dreamful sleep.

As I began recounting a memorable incident about my fondness for sleep, his classic example awaited. One winter night in Delhi, my wife fell asleep with our two kids on time. An ignited mosquito coil lay beneath the bed. By the time I was ready to sleep, it was too late, so I chose to retire in the adjoining room with my parents rather than disturb the trio. In the wee hours, my mom abruptly woke me up with a jerk, pointing out the smoke oozing from the room where my wife and kids were sleeping. Opening the door, thick smoke prevented us from seeing anything. With the doors open, we found the quilt smouldering and still progressing. In utter bewilderment, we rose to action and carefully removed the burned quilt. My wife, aghast and repentant at her lapse, took time to recover.

Now it was my friend’s turn to share his ‘delta sleep’ story. On my query, my medico friend defined ‘delta sleep’ as a stage of sleep where outside activity or disturbance fails to wake the sleeper. The incident occurred 20 years ago, when he was a medical intern. One day, when he was asleep after dinner in his second-floor hostel room, a batchmate knocked at his door. But received no response despite repeated attempts. The friend smelled foul and called his other friends. They intervened, entering the room through the rear balcony from the ground floor. The more agile among them managed to climb through the drain pipes, step on the balcony, cross the unbolted door, and get inside.

When tickling, stirring, goading, and shaking failed, one of them slapped him on both cheeks, which brought him to his senses, and he finally woke up, confused about his precarious sleep. His friends, of course, were convinced that he had some substance. But he insisted it was just his reflexive urge for sleep. “What stuff was that? Tell us frankly; we’ll not divulge it,” they pestered him. Despite the best of his efforts, his friends departed, promising to resume the interrogation the next day.