Interesting snippet from a dream from last night. I was at this huuuuuuge cliff face (like a cliff face you would see were you to reach the end of the world). There were these gorillas living on the face of the cliff in these caves in the cliff face. The way they would descend to their caves was awesome!! They would stand at the edge of the cliff and just fall off, sliding down the wall face first at the speed of gravity pulling them down. They would just allow themselves to fall, face down with their hands on the wall. Once they reached their cave they would simply grab the edge and stop themselves. They kept doing this over and over with no effort whatsoever and seemed to be having fun doing it. All I could think at the time was simply how much power they had in their arms to be able to do something like that.
This would not be something for you people out there afraid of heights. It was hiiiiigh! Could not see the ground from up there. Now that is high.

A Pinocchio-like Haunting

I was at home, making my way from the living room to the kitchen, when I noticed something out of place. It wasn't particularly threatening, but it did catch my eye nonetheless, for there in the door leading to the firewood storage area was a piece of firewood, half embedded in the door itself. I glanced at it a second time, and this time I noticed that for some strange reason this piece of firewood strangely resembled a humanoid form. Now, it could well have been some old tree that died, leaving behind what was a seemingly disfigured piece of itself, one that on any other day a person may consider to be aesthetically pleasing. Yet, while I was passing by, I couldn't shake this feeling of something being rather amiss, because it did look like this piece of firewood had broken through the door. But, even in my dream, I stopped thinking about this as being ridiculous, because we all know pieces of firewood don't do that. I mean, for all I knew, maybe the pile of firewood behind the door had come crashing down and damaged the door, leaving this little piece hanging in the door, like how I found it.

It wasn't until later, on another trip to the kitchen to return my empty mug to the shelf, that I noticed the firewood piece laying on the floor. There was nothing to suggest that it traveled there on its own, going with my earlier thought of it resembling a person, more like a child; however, it seemed to be laying on its back, if that was even remotely possible for a piece of firewood to do. Still, my mother could have moved it to the kitchen to use it in the stove, as I once again convinced myself that all this paranoia was in my head.

My next trip to the kitchen, to get a glass of water it seemed, found me admiring how neat the place was. What was once a kitchen floor strewn with bits of wood and other debris was now a spotless example of concrete floor worthy of honorable mention. So, with some admiration, I began sipping my water with a half-formed smile. Nearing the end of the water in the glass, I raised my head to send the rest of the refreshing liquid down my parched throat, when it suddenly dawned on me to jump out of the way. Strange though this may sound, it was almost like a knee-jerk reaction, even in my dream, that caused me to dive out of the way as if something were falling on me! Through mid-jump, I had an opportunity to glance upwards, just to see if the jump was warranted. And there it was. The piece of firewood was hanging off of one of the roofing beams, as if hanging there by one hand, ready to jump!

As soon as I hit the floor, I heard a thud. Looking to my left, I noticed that the piece of firewood was still rocking back and forth after its fall, it's final moments of animation before coming to rest on its back, again. That was it. That was all I could stand. I picked it up and flung it outside. For the sake of my own sanity, I threw a large cardboard box over it, so I wouldn't see it laying there. But just then, something bizarre happened. As soon as the box fell over the piece of firewood, it began to move. At first, it moved rather slowly, but determinedly. And then, it raised itself off the ground! Shocked, unable to run or turn away, I watched in horror as the box levitated momentarily, before it was revealed to me that there was a little boy standing under the box! In some strange manner, the little boy did resemble the piece of firewood, like I had always suspected about the humanoid form that it displayed. But here was a little boy, no older than 7, standing there looking back at me with large, deadpan eyes. He was dressed in blue shorts with blue suspenders, with a blue-and-white striped t-shirt. And, after staring at me, for about a minute, which is a long time let me assure you, he began making his way towards me!

Now, it was my turn to panic, and not any sort of small panic either. I raised hell as I grabbed a bottle of kerosene and started dowsing the boy with it. When the bottle was empty, I scrambled to find some matches. All the while, the boy was making his way towards me. First one step. Then another. Then one more. Then another one. It was like the grand finale of some robot horror movie, where the robot makes its way towards the hero in a slowly-but-surely manner, never flinching no matter what is thrown at it. Finding the matches, I quickly flicked one at the advancing boy. It was just my luck that the match lit and landed right on him. Whoosh! He was ablaze. But I wasn't out of the woods yet. No, now there was a little boy dressed in blue, on fire, heading towards me! The most disturbing thing about him was the expression on his face - emotionless, but still somehow determined to get me. And that's when I woke up.

Meeting old friends

In this dream, I was in Bombay, or that's what it seemed like. The city was home to one of my friends from school, and as far as I could remember, he was from there. The reason for my apparent confusion is the fact that this dream version of Bombay appeared to be a mixture of parts of downtown Honolulu and snippets of the cute, closely-knit alleys of small-town Europe. But, like I was saying, this was where my friend KA was from, so I suppose it had to be Bombay, albeit slightly modified.

We were in KA's apartment. I had just arrived from out of town, and I was using this time to freshen up before we went out to see what the city had on offer. As soon as I was ready, and after noticing that KA was obviously doing well for himself, as evidenced by his apartment muy largo, we went to a nearby coffee shop. While there, I ran into another friend from school, SMC. It was nice to catch up, and although this gathering wouldn't really have happened back in school, the fact that it was happening now was a sign that we had all "grown up" so as not to let the idiocies of old influence our current day interaction.

Then, cut to a short while later, I'm walking down the street of what seems to be a small but very colorful lane, replete with tall, narrow, 2- and 3-storey buildings reminiscent of small-town Europe. I seem to be trying to find a place to eat, or at least to get a cup of coffee. Suddenly, glancing into the window of a cafe as I pass by, I notice another friend, this time though, a friend from college. R is sitting down to a sandwich and some coffee when I burst through the door and greet him loudly, very unbecoming of me, and rather jarring in terms of the overall subdued atmosphere of the cafe. We proceed to catch up briefly before making plans to meet up later for dinner with KA and SMC.

Now, the dream wasn't particularly interesting, not even with the fused setting, or the seemingly normal chain of events. What was intriguing was the fact that I haven't seen many of these people in over a decade. When I say "seen" I mean I haven't had any contact with any of these people. For example, it's been close to 12 years since I heard from or about KA, and with SMC and R, it's been 10 years, give or take a month. To suddenly dream of all these people, individually and with a large amount of on-screen time in my dream was surprising, to say the least.

Visions of the Paranormal

I woke up at 4am this morning, sweating profusely, and reaching for the flashlight under my pillow. My first reaction after opening my eyes was that there was something somewhere in the room with me! And, I wanted to get a good look at it before it got me. I don't know why, but the dream I had was profoundly scary, by far one of the most disturbing ones I've had in the longest while. However, I'll let you be the judge of that. Here goes...

I'm at home, here in Sri Vilas, and the day is going by normally. When I say normally, however, I intend to imply that the routines of the individuals present carry on as they always have - crossing paths as infrequently as possible, while maintaining their own pace, much as they always have. In between all this regular, day-to-day living that's going on, I happen to notice a little girl standing around, crying. I can't recognize her, but she's most upset. Even when she stops crying, the frown on her face indicates that she's not in the least bit amused. She doesn't seem to pay much attention to the goings-on around her, and nobody else seems to notice that she's there. So, I decide to do something about it.

I ask my uncle, as he's going up the stairs, if he sees the little girl. He says no! I point to an area right near him, less than a foot away, where I can see her crying, and ask again with a little more exasperation. But he still doesn't see her! Shocked, and kind of spooked, I decide to ask my mother and my grandmother the same thing. But, I get the same response. No one can see her, except me, and I'm obviously supposed to do something about it but I can't figure out what that might be.

Just as I am on the verge of the now famous "I see dead people" revelation, I notice something even more bizarre. The little girl has disappeared, and in her place is a little, wailing kitten! WHAT? Yet, strange-as-all-hell as this may seem, I decide to ask the people at home if they see the little, lost-and-forlorn feline, guessing that they'll probably say yes...judging by how many cats we have around the house (in reality). But no! They don't see or hear anything. And that's when I finally lose it and freak out!

I couldn't get back to bed for another couple of hours, and all the while, for most of today in fact, I've been trying to figure out what this means. Mind-boggled, tired, and a little creeped-out, I'm going to give this a rest and see what my subconscious can throw together for me another day. Well, at least I'm going to try and give it a rest...

The Depressing Case of The Dog in The Pen

We appeared to be at a farm. "We" seemed to include a bunch of people, both family and friends, but I could only catch half glances of their faces, so I'm not very sure who was there. Anyway, we seemed to be getting a guided tour of a breeding facility of some kind. It was well laid out; acre upon acre of rolling meadows, a cluster of trees here and there for those necessary patches of shade, and a nice, cozy farmhouse with a barn and a few animal pens nearby. I couldn't see who the guide was, or even hear what he was saying, but it looked as if our tour was now taking us to these holding pens.

Many of the pens were empty. They were very clean, with fresh hay having been neatly arranged at the bottom in anticipation of new occupants, and the walls of these pens were only waist high. I had no clue what sort of animals these were meant for, and I suppose I should have been paying attention to what the tour guide was saying because I'm sure he mentioned it.

As my eyes kept searching for a clue about the nature of the animals housed here, I caught a glimpse of a dog in one of the pens. It was a fat, little miniature Labrador retriever wearing a snug, full length, pale blue dog sweater. The light blue stood in effective eye-catching contrast to her short, black fur. He or she was by far the cutest thing I had seen in a long while, and so I went over to pet him. The dog was happy to see me, but there was an element of the terribly subdued about this happiness. She was wagging her tail, but you could tell that there was apprehension in her eyes.

I continued to pet the dog, until something caught my eye. I noticed a label on the sweater, about the size of half an average human palm, and white in color, that read, "This fur will be used to make towels." I was horrified! I didn't stop to think about whether or not they would shear the dog of its fur to produce said towels, or if this production of towels involved something far more sinister. The empty pens, however, seemed to answer this question. It was too much to bear. I crouched down, kind of next to the pen, and reached over to pet the dog. I was wailing, sobbing as loudly as I had ever done in my life., but it was a dry wailing; there were no tears to accompany the overall anguish I was experiencing. It was just pure pain, and I had no idea how to deal with it, except to sit there, crouched and petting the dog. But the more I did that, the more she stared back at me with an expressionless stare, half curious, and half not there.

That's how this dream ended. I was petting this cute, rotund little canine, crying my heart out, and she was staring back at me, lost between this world and the next. It was so hard to deal with that I woke up three hours ago, and haven't been able to get back to sleep!

Lifelong Guilt

For those of us who are familiar with the partaking of late evening snacks served up by a seemingly endless row of hawkers, a scene of chaotic sounds, smells and billows of smoke should come flooding back to you. I can’t quite place what city this was in, and I suppose it doesn’t matter entirely, but the scene was one of a behind-the-scenes life of one of the vendors of delectable wares. Enter me. I’m one of the vendors, the eldest of two sons, helping my father out at his trusty chat stall. It’s the usual night of madness after sunset, hordes of people descending on our little stall because we happen to make the best chat for miles around.

Late into the night, as all of us vendors are packing up and at various stages of heading home for some well earned rest, our stall-neighbors call out to us. Theirs is a large family, eight children large, all of them younger than twelve years of age. The kids’ father asks if one of us can help out with getting the kids and their mother back home. My father volunteers me proudly, and I set out to do a good job, making up my mind to fulfill the mission I have been asked to carry out with aplomb. Our neighbors own a cycle rickshaw that seats the whole family comfortably; the reason they can’t all travel together is that the father decides to stay back late to make some extra money catering to the “midnight crowd”. Having been thrust the responsibility of transporting these kids safely, and after getting them to sit down without creating too much of a ruckus, we begin our journey home. SCREEEECH!!! BLAM!!!

A lorry comes out of nowhere and sends us all flying in different directions. The aftermath? All eight children and their mother perish in the accident. But I, well, I emerge without a scratch. Their father, obviously distraught, blames me for the entire thing. The guilt is almost unbearable, especially when you add to it the constant stream of invective that the grieving father continues to hurl at me.

The last scene, with a quick sort of cinematographic flash-forward, begins with me, looking very old. I seem to have retired happily, and I’m standing in front of what I recognize as my father’s ancestral home in Mahe. I’m standing out front having a casual conversation with a friend, on a beautifully sunny day. Suddenly, from out of the blue, the vendor - father to the family that perished in the accident for which I was responsible - bursts onto the scene, pointing a finger at me and cursing at the top of his lungs. He still blames me for his loss, and is not willing to hear reason after so many years. This goes on for a couple of minutes, and my consistent efforts to dissipate his rage prove futile. Finally, in a moment of anger, regret, helplessness and sheer, all-out frustration, I snap. I start to yell over his shouting. I tell him that I’ve had enough, that I can’t stand to be continuously berated for something that happened many, many years ago. I offer him an ultimatum: Shut up and move on, or kill me. I tell him that this ceaseless badgering is not something I wish to endure for a minute longer. I’m sorry for what happened, but this haunting reminder,, particularly this in-the-flesh kind, has plagued me for long enough. If it will make him happy, in terms of providing some sense of retribution, I tell him to go ahead and put me out of this imposed misery. The dream ends with me waking up, not knowing if the aggrieved gentleman took me up on my offer.

This was rather intense, as far as dreams go, and I woke up panting and wiping sweat from my brow. Wow!

Inconsistent Dream Sequence

In the last couple of months, I’ve been dreaming quite a lot. There was a period of time, about a decade and a half ago, when I seemed to have lost the ability entirely. However, it’s back with a veritable vengeance, and that can only mean one of a couple of things. First up, It could mean that I’ve been getting a lot more time to slip into REM sleep, or that I have perfected the ability to do so at a moment’s notice. Or, it probably means I’ve got a lot on my mind that my conscious self is having trouble dealing with, which is why my subconscious keeps whipping up some seriously startling and demented stuff. Either way, however, it’s been fun. I’ve tried to remember as many of them as I could, and even went to the extent of writing a couple down as soon as I awoke. Here is my story of the images which have flowed through my head during my deepest slumber, this past month. Consider yourself forewarned of the madness.

Underwater Alma Mater

I’m in math class, and there’s one of my most favorite teachers from High school doing his thing on the whiteboard. I glance around the class, and it’s most of my friends from high school. Things seem pretty normal, with the serious students paying close attention, and the “jokers” horsing around in the back. Then, I’m at lunch with a bunch of friends, at the school cafeteria. It looks nothing like the cafeteria at Kodai School, resembling more of a from-one-of-those-Hollywood-movies type of high school cafeterias. I don’t notice anything particular yet, until the dream suddenly cuts to the end of the school day, and we’re all standing outside the building. Again, it resembles a scene from some movie, where parents come to pick some kids up while others go by bus, in typical Hollywood fashion. The only difference? We’re “under the sea“, like from the Little Mermaid. There are old VW Beetles zooming off in a flurry of bubbles, in every direction. And finally, the camera inside my head seems to zoom out and fade into reality as I open my eyes.

Tele-Mission Vietnam

This dream starts off with a plane hurtling towards the ground. It’s a two-seater, Cessna-type of aircraft, and my trusty partner in crime is my good friend Oz. We were shot down over enemy territory, which happens to be Vietnam. Ejecting ourselves from the aircraft, with parachutes on, thank God, we float gently down to the ground, right in the middle of a vast stretch of paddy fields. We manage to evade detection, for we are no ordinary parachuting folk. No sir! We are journalists, on a mission to provide video evidence of atrocities being carried out against the local population by the dictatorial regime in the country. Managing to reach a village, we find our way into a small hut where an old couple agree to provide us shelter. As it turns out, the gentleman of the house is a motorbike aficionado and happens to have a well-maintained, almost mint condition US Army motorbike behind the hut. He offers it to us on our mission, and we spend the next couple of days making short but useful forays into the surrounding, inhabited countryside, trying to get the footage we want. As these things tend to go, however, there is no sign of these “atrocities” anywhere in the country. Then, the dream takes a bizarre, yet seamless twist.

We begin to interview people in the village where we are currently holed up, about food and culture. It’s all happening in English, and the locals seem to suddenly be an urban, IT bunch of people. They start telling us about the latest trendy places to grab a quick bite, and it turns into one of those regular TV shows about a presenter who visits some place and tells us what’s hot and what’s not. Then, we move from the village to a bustling metropolis, rife with malls and endless swarms of people everywhere. I can’t remember what it said exactly, but there is a bit of a background narrative with this scene. We find ourselves behind-the-scenes with a dance troupe that’s putting together a major performance on some special day. It’s the usual trials and tribulations of the members of this troupe as they approach d-day, pardon the expression. Finally, the whole show turns out to be some kind of parade with fabulous costumes and extravagant fireworks displays, and the whole world is watching it on TV.


“I would like to purchase your furniture”

The dream starts out with me back in my old dormitory, in Kodai school. Well, that’s what it appears to be at first, but I soon realize that it’s a posh apartment block, or hotel, that’s shaped kind of like my old dormitory. I chit-chatting to this girl who is actually a Malayalam movie actor, and we seem to take this conversations to all parts of the building. After chatting for what is obviously a dream-eternity, we start getting a little closer to each other, and a little, how shall I say, “frisky“. Not taking things too far, we both feel the urge to go rushing back to my room/apartment, and so we do.

When I open the door, however, I’m surprised to meet an old schoolmate and her brother, who is several years my senior, both sitting on facing single sofas in white bathrobes. They’ve come to buy my furniture, and contrary to my wondering if I’d ever offered to sell my furniture to them, I find myself agreeing to help out with transporting the stuff down to their waiting truck. All through the moving, me and this girl-who-resembles-a-Malayalam-movie-star keep cracking inside jokes and shooting each other wistful glances. And then, sadly, I wake up…wondering what the hell made people I haven’t seen or heard of in years, show up at my place in their bathrobes!

ATM Trouble

On my way to an ATM, at some ungodly hour before dawn, I find myself in mid-stride as the curtains are raised on this dream. I know which ATM I want to go to because it’s near my house. When I get there, I’m surprised to find a crowd of people standing around the ATM with pensive yet slightly frustrated looks on their faces. Not wanting to wait outside on what seems to be a cold night, I let myself in and offer to help. The ATM, as I should point out at this stage, seems to be an ATM-cum-arcade, so there’s a huge area behind this machine with lots of arcade game machines, switched off for the night. Not a particularly important detail, but I just thought I’d paint the complete picture for you.

As I begin to speak to the people in the ATM enclosure, I learn that they are from France, and they’ve come here - wherever “here” is - on some kind of educational exchange. They were trying to withdraw some money, but something seems to be the matter with the ATM and they’ve been struggling with it for a long time now. In an attempt to save the day and leave these visitors to our shores with a good impression of the “locals,” I offer to help. However, it seems to be a real problem and I spend another hour or two figuring it out. Finally, the ATM starts spitting out cash when instructed to do so, and all is well in the world again. It’s at this point, after the first successful withdrawal is made, that all of the arcade machines suddenly switch on and the hole place is a melee of lights and MIDI music from all the games. Overcome with joy, amidst the cacophony, the French students and I shake hands and decide to meet up later that evening for a drink somewhere. They seem to have found a pub/bar that they really like, and it’s going to be a celebration of and on their last night in town, wherever this town is.

I meet up with the group of students at a really chilled out lounge bar kind of place, with mellow lights and a very natural, eco-friendly angle to the theme. There’s a large tree on the premises, and it’s been neatly and effortlessly incorporated into the building, which fuses together the indoors and the outdoors. We sit down at a table under one of the tree’s majestic branches, and the dream ends with us making a toast to the place, our chance meeting, and la vie en generale. Salut.

Retired Substitute

This is a short and sweet dream that was almost a bit of a sports highlights show. The dream opens with England one goal down. The opponents, who appear to not be from any country that I know of, have conceded a penalty. Phil Neville steps up to take it, and anxiety of the crowd is palpable as the game seems to be in its dying minutes. He lines himself up, looks down for an instant with his eyes tightly shut, as if in prayer, and begins his short run up. Wham! He misses a sitter of a chance, sending it sailing over the crossbar. Now, England are in dire straits! They continue to press on, and finally get a corner kick in their favor. This one is a must-get, and if the tension was already palpable, now it’s suffocating.

Just then, almost like a sneaky substitution in basketball, Pele subs himself on for England. The opposition don’t seem to notice, being far too focused on the corner kick being taken, but Pele slips into the box undetected, weaving through the scattered bits of defense and dives at full stretch to put the ball in the back of the net in the far corner. It’s one of the most magical goals the world has seen, and for the next five minutes there’s replay upon replay, from every perceivable angle, of this amazing header by Pele, who, funnily enough, doesn’t seem to be a day over 25 years old. The excitement on and off the field is so hard to take in all at once, that I wake up wondering if I’d seen that on TV before. Not, the sneaky substitution, of course, but the goal being scored by a fabulous header.


And, there you have it. An assortment of dreams from select nights this past month. I hope it was well worth the read.


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Amit bro, I owed you this big time. I’ve been meaning to post this for a while now, but never got around to putting it all together. Blog on, eh? :-)

Dream Explosion!

I realised a while ago that if I sleep early enough, the chances of me dreaming are very high. Probably because the heavy dream activity normally occurs around the hours before you wake up so a full nights sleep lets me sleep long enough to have the dreams before waking up.
This is probably why I had such an explosion of dreams last night! I can still remember 3 different dreams from last night alone!
I remember one dream of Avi and myself at a beach where instead of water, we had snow...not ice, but snow! It was wild, walking around in the snow leaving nice distinct footsteps behind. There was even a wave of snow that knocked me over. Pretty intense!
I also remember a dream of this idiot footballer Adebayor announcing a gift giving session to the public and hundreds of people lined up outside his flat, which happened to be next to mine to collect movie tickets.
Finally, I was at a party with a big group playing some game or the other. When my turn came I had to come up with a good proposal of marriage, right there in front of everybody. Talk about nightmares!!