Too often, I am plagued with what I have come to acknowledge as fascinating spillages or leakages out of an extraordinary mind, a mind that is sober at times and infinitely imperious at other times. I was travelling in the intercity bus the other day and was quietly ruminating over the pleasant and relaxed life that I was leading, when all of a sudden a peasant woman got into the bus. She was carrying two cylindrical milk cans as huge as the obese guys you find in page three articles munching heavily on something delicious with a ferocity that is at once disgusting. Anyway, this woman sat beside me with the milk cans, which I noticed were empty, for they were making this clanking sound with the bus jerking its insides violently in city traffic like a whale that is rushing to swish past the uncouth underwater shrubbery to gulp down the colonies of fish speeding away.
The woman's dark brown hands were scarred with fatigue and her skin rugged with hair on her hands sloping hither and tether. now I was making conversations with her, so fine and delicate was I in dealing with her that she began pouring out her stressful life's moments before me one by one like spilling out beans and as the moments passed, the conversation was lifted up by the bearers, I and her, and was visible for all the inhabitants of the jolting vehicle. Soon enough, there were others. And now we were four of us, now five , now six.....and just as the ants tickle their senses with sharp pointed antennae, we did too, with our imaginary senses, and there we were, all of us, save the bus driver, we were now unanimously pelting words, thoughts, expressions, perceptions and I, the leader emerged out of this. I was the chose one, I was the crusader, the captain of the ship, we were all tired of the impotent politicians, the increasingly incapable work force of this nation, and we all agreed that it was time for a revolution, one that includes but is not restricted to the peasants. The revolution was stirring ounces of adrenalin in all our blood, particularly mine, for now, I was on the verge of vaporizing my body and dissolve into molecules, to divulge my perspiration and inspiration by wetting all the bodies around me.
By now, I was violently shaking, palpitating with the sudden rush of energy, I got down at my stop and the adrenaline took a while to subside. there I was walking on the same road I walked a million times before, to my home, hands dropped dead straight at the mercy of shoulder joints, walking with footsteps that were caressing the road more than the sweeper with her broom every morning, such was the boredom I was living with, so it was not so inconceivable to think that I relished in fantasies of the kind I had explained just now.
I was now inside the lift with the girl next door standing right next to me; this was the moment I was waiting for. After introductions or words to that effect, I presented the full face of the hilarious side of my person, she immediately relented. There I was in her flat, her husband is out of station (not to be expected for another year) what more could one ask for. We soon found out that we shared common interests and she confessed that she was having a rough marriage time. Then, I grab the opportunity to take her on a philosophical, metaphysical and epistemological ride of the utter futility of marriage, I carefully expose the uncovered roots of the institution to her and illustrate the effect of centuries of adornment to a disgusting idea and how it is now fashionable to marry and all that. it worked, we she gave a call to her husband, boy she was boisterous on phone, you should have looked at her while she exuded the beauty of her slippery hair prostrating on her soft naked nape and at the same time, slamming the phone down with a ferocity unseen and unheard before that the shattered phone was the only thing that was left as the remainder of the whole episode.
I opened the lift doors, saw myself out, closed them on her face and retreated into my home without further delay. Now, this again is not uncommon, to create and relish in fantasies I mean. Because, this is in my hands, the world I create is at my feet, what I am displeased with, are the dreams.
My dad had a rough day at his office; his superior sort of rejected his leave. He intended to spend time with the family and also invite relatives to stay over and celebrate the marriage anniversary and all that. Well, he was thoroughly disgusted with his boss, so he was just taking a nap on the sofa, when the watchman showed up and began complaining that my dad forgot to close the apartment gates. I interrupted and this sort of resulted in an exchange of words, as to the inefficiency of the watchman in his duty and the utter incompetence of his wife in sweeping the corridors clean, and how inadequate his resources have proved time and again. I and the watchman consulted the apartment owner and he vouched for the watchman's phony attitude. So, later that day, I had an idea, so I pasted up postures in the lift and on the stair case, asking people to participate in dismissing the incumbent watch man. Eventually, we got rid of the watch man, and I was the hero of the day.
There I was again hallucinating or day dreaming and all that. Not a single word left my curious mind, not a letter produced from my vocal chords if you want to know the truth. Somehow, my dreams are on the contrary quite repulsive and gory.
There was this time, in my dream I was tied up by a bunch of neurotics to a pole on the street and they were beating me up. It was unlike any brawl that I have fantasized about, in this I was so helpless and hopeless, with blood dripping down my cheeks, each one of them were taking turn into bashing the hell out of me. Each of those knocks felt like a battering ram pounding deep inside my stomach, I was dying, and then they untied me and left me to the mercy of the cold night. I got up on my legs and I tried with all my might and strength to run, to run away, to flee the place. But, with each attempt I made, my blood pressure dropped so low, that tears were now slipping back into the crevices behind my eye balls, it was terrifying. I was desperate, I was devastated, I had to run or I might die there on the street with no name, but I could not lift my legs, they were as heavy as if gravity suddenly multiplied a tenfold or a hundredfold.
Then, I woke up and found the blanket on my feet rendering them incapable of movement. There are other dreams too, but it’s not worth going into the details, in all of them, I am desperate, someone is beating me up, or someone is cursing me. I flunk my exams; I am despondent, dejected, battered, drinking my life away and all that.
The only difference, that I have come to realize between hallucinations and dreams is; that I am the hero of my hallucinations, while in my dreams, I am the real me, a complete loser.
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