‘How could someone make this much noise on a Sunday…?’
This was my first thought when my head was clear enough to think. I had just woken up from a long yet disturbing sleep. The nightmares were getting really hard to believe and the technical perfection was hard to avoid. If the world was just watching 3D, I was having nightmares of 6D effect. Unlike the ones I had when I was in my early twenties, these were hardly forgettable. It was Rao who told me about writing nightmares down immediately after you wake up. It had to be immediate because according to him, it is impossible for a normal person to recall his dreams ten minutes later. And, I was a normal person. I used a small notebook to write down the fragments of dreams I could remember. Whenever I went through it again, it didn’t make any sense. It was like frames scattered all over an editor’s table; seemingly stupid and unreal. I lost interest in it and left it midway. When bumped into once in a party, Rao asked, ‘How’s the dream diary going on, mate?’
‘I stopped doing it. Didn’t really understand the meaning of the whole thing.’ I admitted. Rao was pretty drunk and he had vodka mixed with Coke in his hands. He was the only person I saw who drank Vodka with Coke.
I avoid hard liquor and excelled in giving company to a large amount of friends by sipping a small bottle of beer for three hours. Somehow it never seemed fun to drink in a cacophonic surrounding. I secretly enjoyed the scotch (with ice cubes) in my room, while listening to Sufi music and Ghazals. When the rack started overflowing with them, I replaced a few with soft country music and Indi pop. Coke Studio Pakistan also made its way sooner than I thought and I found it better than Coke Studio India.
Let’s come back to my dream-issues because you might already know my preferences of music.
The next best thing to do was to talk to myself about these dreams when I am doing my morning things… while brushing, taking a shower, and going through the newspaper or even when driving to work, if there’s work! It never took any extra time and almost always held me from shouting at road-bullies. ‘Fucker’ ‘old fart on a yellow scooter’ ‘asshole’ ‘Learn to drive, idiot’ etc. could wait till I was done with my dream workshop. It was during one of those workshops that I met her. She almost got hit by my car and if I had addressed her the way my obscene brain told me to, I am so sure, even five generations of her family down the line would have stayed away from me and my descendants. She was on phone and (was careless) was trying to cross the road. She misunderstood my speed and jumped right in front of my car. Handbrakes are a helpful thing when you want to turn the car around and I used it. A lot of people screamed. I must have screamed too. She fell down on the road, losing her balance. I got out of the car.
Half an hour later, I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria with her facing me. She was feeling alright now. The smoke spiraling up from a hot coffee created a screen between us. Through the screen, she looked at me and said.
‘I had a dream. Sort of a déjà vu like feeling. I was thinking whether I should tell you.’
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