Monday, April 30, 2007

Dreams and a soulful post

I will now write soulfully.

It is dark as I look out the window. As it should be, since it is night. It would startle me greatly if it were to be still bright or twilit at this hour. I sit alone in this room of mine, dried up plate before me and seepage-filled walls behind me. Perhaps the plate symbolizes my life, which has been curiously devoid of, for lack of a better word, life. Perhaps the walls symbolize walls, since I cannot, right away, think of anything they could possibly symbolize.

OK, enough soul. I had a dream two days back. It was curious and silly and need not be put down anywhere. That's why it's here.

I dreamt that I was being attacked by a group of aggressive Buddhist monks. They were all wearing the traditional Buddhist monks' robes, saffron in hue. They were five or eight in the group and I was one. I was walking along a road, quite a familiar one, and they were coming towards me. It was all peaceful and serene. Not a soul was in sight. The sun was that pleasant morning one, a little while after rise. Unusually, I was on a morning walk. This is unusual because I don't wake up till 8 or after. However, a dream opens up wonderful possibilities and I was exploring one of them.

I was almost past the group of tranquil monks when I looked at them and they at me. It was not more than the usual glance one shoots at passers-by when one is walking on a road. One of the monks slowed in his tracks as the others moved on. His eye caught mine and there was flash of something there. Recognition, anger, grim hatred? I didn't know, but I was puzzled. "Whither the anger, o unknown man-of-God from yon windswept caves in Tibet?" quoth I.

I didn't, but I'd like to have said so, even if in a dream.

I was puzzled by his look and shot back an enquiring one. He veered away from the path the others were walking on and started towards me. His walking picked up pace as he moved towards me and finally, he broke into a run. He charged at me and began attacking me, with well-aimed punches and jabs. I was shocked at being attacked by strange monks and was a bit sluggish in my defence. But I recovered soon enough. I fought back. He hit me right in the mouth, causing blood to spatter across the road. I hit him right back, dislodging one of his teeth. The violence remained in the same mould and I noticed a strange thing. The other monks, having noticed the absence of their fellow man, had come near us and gathered around, not helping their friend but standing quietly, looking on. This was a bit unsettling, to say the least. It was as though they were waiting for him to finish me off, so they could pick up where they left off and go home. I suddenly noticed the violent monk's attire.

He was wearing jeans. So were the other monks. Saffron jubba and blue jeans. They were like a gang. Very odd.

The violent monk, meanwhile, had suddenly changed gears. He was trying to bite me. This made me both disgusted by and afraid of him and I was trying to keep his face away from my ear, which he was trying to bite off. This soon became a stalemate situation, with neither side able to beat the other. The other monks looked on yet. And then, they brought forth their secret weapons.

A small dog and a gorilla.

The dog was practically useless. It did nothing useful and was just barking its head off, annoying everybody. But the gorilla was a different matter. As the violent monk struggled to bite portions of my face off, and I struggled to keep said portions on, the gorilla issued a mighty roar which echoed through the trees. This stunned both me and the violent monk and we both stopped fighting and looked at the gorilla, as though waiting for it to say something important, since it had so noticeably interrupted a pitched battle. Then the gorilla came for me. As in, you know, it wasn't a performance or anything, you sick, demented beings. He was in an attacking mode.

I knew this was a lost cause and wanted to get the hell out of there. So I tried to turn and run. But the gorilla caught me. And then I heard the violent monk yell something extremely stupid-sounding. "Feel the nails! Feel the nails!" I didn't know whether he was threatening me or ordering me to do something. But the gorilla had caught me and had a vice-like grip around my throat. I was struggling to break free from it, it was going to rip my hair out, the monks were all cheering now, I was yelling....

And I don't know what happened next because I woke up. You have just lost valuable time in your life.

9 comments:

Sandeep said...

Olle souls-u.

Suprita said...

And this is why you shouldn't watch Hannibal and Hare Rama Hare Krishna before going to bed. Waste-tu..

Harish said...

ondu keTTa kanasu anta maretbiDu. hosadaagi jeevana aarmbha maaDu. (heege kanasgella life restart aagbiTTre swalpa kashtaneya.)

"Waste-tu" has a redundant 't' in it. An observation.

The Darkling Thrush said...

they're RSS.
it's a sign.

many people are subscribing to your blog.

congratulations boy.

Sandeep said...

Ms Milk powder olle kett joke madadru ig taane...

Sandeep said...

Because the monks in your dream are waering saffron, and and the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, a right wing Hindu nationalist group subscribes to the saffron colour and and RSS is also Really simple syndication (which is a type of live feed like Atom, on which I had also done a presentation in college) she related the three to make a joke. Clever one, this is.

I also made a subtle pun above. I said RSS subscribes to the saffron colour, and you can subscribe to RSS feeds. See??

I love explaining jokes.

Arjun Sharma said...

[Sandeep]Houdu

[Suprita]Olle combination-u. Neevoo ittidira, parvagilla.

[Harish]Houdu, sum-sumne life restart maadbittre olle time waste-u. Time waste-tu antlu helbodu.

[Thrush]Olle puns-u. Thanks-u.

[Sandeep]Oh it's like that? Ooooh....

Yes, 'tis a noble art, explaining jokes. Pursued with vim and vigour by the jobless.

Suprita said...

@Harish: I used to write "waste-u" before, but people would read that as "waste you". Maybe "wase-tu" is the way to go.

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