I dreamt you today.
Bastard.
'Dreamt'. How the sentence sounds. As if 'I drank you today'. And literally I did. Amma is disenchanted by all this. She asks me why I set so much store by dreams. Why I remember them, and why I think about them. Maybe she's right. I should simply dismiss them. But what keeps me enchanted is the emotion I feel in the dream. For me, dreams count not because of the colours or the event, but the feeling I feel when I live that event in the dream. Maybe it's more real than my awake, everyday feelings. Because I feel in the dream so acutely. And the dreams are always inspired by my innermost desires,and thoughts. I feel like advertising like a film producer: 'Technicolor, inspired by real life events'.
In the dream you had cheated on me. You had always been a cheat. And I realised I had never truly loved you. Meaning you never the one I truly wanted. A series of high drama events had happened, which together did not make sense after waking up (they never did). In one of the of the scenes you were sipping a sweet liquid with a two-way straw, another girl at the other end of straw. Seated opposite, you were looking at each other. And the sweet liquid was actually her smiling eyes. (Yes, dreams are full of metaphors). You were drinking her eyes, she along with you.I vividly remember the last scene: a hot chase, me after you. And then inside the bus. Empty, and for you nowhere to go. Even though we were no longer running, my pursuit was on. You, pinned on the wall. Your astuteness. Your grace. Your toned body. Your nipples. The pursuit goes lower. Me ready for your maleness. The dream ends here, and I wake up.
I wake up to the feeling in the dream. Dull pain. Of frustration. Of chronic loneliness. I start thinking (It is 15th August, a holiday, I have overslept, Amma conveniently out of house, and I have ample time). The fact is you have cheated me for 25 years. That's my human age in this lifetime. The body age is higher, maybe 35 (time's running out!). How long should I wait?
Everyday there are moments when I am caught alone, unawares, and the knife of this loneliness does a happy round in my throat. Round and round it goes. Helplessly, involuntarily I sigh. How many times. Then there times in the month I sob, soundlessly.
They say man is a social animal. It's true. So is a woman. The need for company arrives, quite appropriately, and more acutely, after attaining adulthood. And then it starts bleeding, this need, like a wound, dripping like a mother's unsuckled babyless breast.
Listen, I need to grow. To do a lot of things. To achieve my goals. But you, my god, you gnaw. Like anything.
Arrive, will you? Damn it.
Today's Independence Day. And I am direly wishing to be ridden of my womanhood. To be free. Of myself. And you. Gosh.
-
Samudri
Bastard.
'Dreamt'. How the sentence sounds. As if 'I drank you today'. And literally I did. Amma is disenchanted by all this. She asks me why I set so much store by dreams. Why I remember them, and why I think about them. Maybe she's right. I should simply dismiss them. But what keeps me enchanted is the emotion I feel in the dream. For me, dreams count not because of the colours or the event, but the feeling I feel when I live that event in the dream. Maybe it's more real than my awake, everyday feelings. Because I feel in the dream so acutely. And the dreams are always inspired by my innermost desires,and thoughts. I feel like advertising like a film producer: 'Technicolor, inspired by real life events'.
In the dream you had cheated on me. You had always been a cheat. And I realised I had never truly loved you. Meaning you never the one I truly wanted. A series of high drama events had happened, which together did not make sense after waking up (they never did). In one of the of the scenes you were sipping a sweet liquid with a two-way straw, another girl at the other end of straw. Seated opposite, you were looking at each other. And the sweet liquid was actually her smiling eyes. (Yes, dreams are full of metaphors). You were drinking her eyes, she along with you.I vividly remember the last scene: a hot chase, me after you. And then inside the bus. Empty, and for you nowhere to go. Even though we were no longer running, my pursuit was on. You, pinned on the wall. Your astuteness. Your grace. Your toned body. Your nipples. The pursuit goes lower. Me ready for your maleness. The dream ends here, and I wake up.
I wake up to the feeling in the dream. Dull pain. Of frustration. Of chronic loneliness. I start thinking (It is 15th August, a holiday, I have overslept, Amma conveniently out of house, and I have ample time). The fact is you have cheated me for 25 years. That's my human age in this lifetime. The body age is higher, maybe 35 (time's running out!). How long should I wait?
Everyday there are moments when I am caught alone, unawares, and the knife of this loneliness does a happy round in my throat. Round and round it goes. Helplessly, involuntarily I sigh. How many times. Then there times in the month I sob, soundlessly.
They say man is a social animal. It's true. So is a woman. The need for company arrives, quite appropriately, and more acutely, after attaining adulthood. And then it starts bleeding, this need, like a wound, dripping like a mother's unsuckled babyless breast.
Listen, I need to grow. To do a lot of things. To achieve my goals. But you, my god, you gnaw. Like anything.
Arrive, will you? Damn it.
Today's Independence Day. And I am direly wishing to be ridden of my womanhood. To be free. Of myself. And you. Gosh.
-
Samudri
