Dreams I Live

A few days back, in a dream just before dawn, I saw news of the missing MH370 flight, that it has been found. I woke up, rushed outside and waited for the newspaper boy. I tried to recollect other details, if I had seen any, the date, the dead or the survivors, the place.

When I was twelve, a girl came to me. Shoulder length hair, feather-cut I think, slender, she caught me staring at her, I must have looked surprised, she did not seem offended, we searched in each other’s eyes, there was sadness in hers but that could have been the reflection of mine, she smiled, she said something, I remember she walked away. Three years later, at a Cultural Festival away from home, in another district, I met her, I was surprised, it was as I saw, she did say something to me I cannot remember, or forget, I remember her walking away.

In my early twenties, an old love entered a dream, that she would surprise me with a visit. A week later, she turned up at the Institute, I was in a students’ meeting. Aren’t you surprised, she asked me. I shook my head. I laughed, I was damn happy. I had another chance, after years of exile, to tell her that I love her. But that I did not see and it never happened, just another love better left unsaid.

Then, in my late twenties, I saw the dream that changed my life.

It was me I am sure, a life strange though, a hundred or two hundred years earlier. I recognized my land, though I am not sure if it was mine, there was someone there who decided all for me and my lot. My hut had clay plastered walls and floor, it was dark, tiny windows that remained closed, a few mats and pots, privy somewhere, or in the open, I remember the darkness, the silence, the tiredness. Working in the fields, beasts of burden, from dawn till dusk, porridge or tapioca on a leaf scooped up with a leaf, animals sitting in the shade or under the sun, in the fields, away from houses and those folk, water from a well for my lot, a dip in the river where we were allowed. There was little time to be bitter, to think, to worry, just a life that was the same each day, every day, illness or death brought a break. The small kids slept inside with the women, others outside. I vaguely remember my wife. A girl, a good girl I heard some tell me. I do not remember talking to her, or giving her gifts, or taking care of her or the kids when they were sick. But I was there. I did not drink, well, not excessively before the bitterness took root. I did not hit her I am rather sure, before then. She looked nervous, with me. I saw her laughing and smiling, with others. Mostly, it was just silent labor for her too, just the usual. Once in a while, I went to her, I held her, with little to say, we buried our heads against each other, the quick thrusting and release over like ablution. Into that idyllic life entered a woman. Was she the girl I saw at twelve or the old love who surprised me, I wondered when I was awake. She walked past us in the fields, to the house of the lords. We muddy dirty lot disappeared into the slush, only eyes remained, peeping through the paddy or the pile of coconuts. I went near her house, feeling brave, a great hero, they let loose the dogs on me, they laughed, they thrashed, and they laughed and decided it was better fun to leave me alive. I worked harder, tired myself out, I drank longer, till I could not sense my tiredness, I disappeared into my shell, and when others tried to enter, I attacked viciously. I hated the moments of clarity, to think I can’t think. I hated life, with no love or hope or desire or thought. I woke up before I died, it must have been better fun to keep me alive to live that dream.