Category: Dream

The blissful abyss Pt. 1

I am in a conundrum. With hair and limbs floating in the sea of nothingness. There is no apothecary to alleviate the feeling of not having you in the present moment, no materia medica to sooth the nostalgia. No potion to undo the scar.

It is true that you can have the clearest picture by considering all sides of the story. This is mine and a long one. So I can finish my moment and you can hear it out. Then you may respond. This is one such thought that crosses my mind.

You are but a shadow, an idea of a beautiful reality, the perfect world. I would like to think it is a possibility. As I sink into this abyss under the dark void with my limbs and hair floating, as I look up into the nothingness, it is calm. I can only sink further from hereon, into an endless loop of these thoughts.

My mind will try to process this feeling for aeons in this plane of existence. Only I exist in this space as only I understand and observe. An imprint of your silhouette, an idea of a girl from a novel, a girl from a reel, an idea of a mountain girl. Is it the idea that has besotted me? Are you just that, a silhouette but not a manifestation of it? This is one more such thought that crosses my mind.

I am on an island. Our friends are all here surrounding us. We are celebrating as you wear the white flower I picked for you from the bouquet. There is that perfect place, the perfect home, the perfect image of my life. I am happy. This is another such thought that crosses my mind.

As I continue to sink in, I feel better to let it out.

dreams not without evidence

Without a shadow of a doubt I have blocked feelings for you. This feeling is piling up and a communication block is not helping. I thought it best to let it flow out in a linear fashion from the very beginning to how it has been unfolding in the present through these events that took, without my consent and if I may add without my control, in dreams influenced by real life incidences.

#1 A last night’s kiss

Scene 1

It has been quite a long time in this lucid place and time seems to have become lenient on me for it feels like a limbo and nothing moves ever so fast as in real life. For this eternity that is a dream, it feels nice. It feels great because I am the protagonist, the hero of my movie. Every character dreaming in their own little world is.

Somehow my consciousness has picked up fragments from a movie that didn’t fare well at the box office. I am with this girl. In a limo. Holding champagne glasses, one each. The very first time I dreamt of her, unwillingly. As I write, the thought poses itself to me in a frozen shot: “Or did I? By Choice? By my own will and desire gather enough deep rooted feelings from some forgotten past that I could?”

Anyway moving on, she kisses me or rather we’re somehow drawn to kiss and it wasn’t planned nor did we intend to but our closeness makes us too comfortable to not share one kiss that this dry land of a spirit could do with. I rejoice and am forever grateful for that brief moment, frozen in eternity as I recall it tonight, writing this down, as if it were only a last night’s dream.

My heart pumps and I forget there is any trouble in paradise or in my life for it doesn’t matter in comparison to what conspires in this eternal land. Fair skinned, almost milky, hair flowing down, somewhat covering the sides of her face, black-hazel eyed beauty. Her nimble soft hands, quick to criticize someone, her thin lips pursed, sealing behind them thoughts analyzing a million things I couldn’t care less about, if only for this moment, as I get drawn towards her moon like face.

I study her face as she studies mine. I remember the dress. She wears black one piece and I only see the silhouette of her attire. But I see her shoulder, her neckline exposed as if calling someone to plant some love, beautiful black hair shining and blending with her dress as she bends sideways on the cushioned hide seat at the back, towards me. I wear a casual dinner jacket, black formals, buttoned not too closely up my neck as I embrace her kiss closing my eyes as does she.

Scene 2

Before anything, I see her out of the limo. The left door is open. I sit on the right. But I see what is happening outside. It’s her old lover or someone who made out with her once and left her, pointing a revolver at her. It’s black, very typical for a revolver.

I see her standing before him. She is in pain and gasps. Her short lived gasp as if calling me out or something that she so sweetly shared with someone. I hear a single gunshot and it flashes white before me.


Sometime in the morning I wake up and remember the kiss.

For the time being, real life seems much safer for her.


#2 The Black Silhouette from last night

I see her last night but I cannot write your name. It will send a string of heartbeats escalating to yet another breathless night followed by a dream. Alright, perhaps I over imagined but there you are; a red cloth slings by your side, hair open, that cheery graceful smile and I thought this would simmer my feelings or help me get it off my chest.

Every time I see you, it is nevertheless the same feeling. So, to last night’s dream on the double:

Scene 1

I see two elderly gentlemen, both of whom I am familiar with since a young age, both good hearted spirits. Both have a mustache and wear glasses. There are others around, insignificant fillers in the dream, as usual. We are all in a house at night probably for a dinner at someone’s place.

Scene 2

She is in her two piece black gown, plain and silky, just like her fair milky skin. She sits on a staircase made of granite stone. I remember this because I’ve gotten wickedly used to growing up over these.  She is probably chatting with some insignificant fillers, as usual.

Scene 3

I am outside the house, in my supposedly black car, on a reverse looking through the back window pane driving away from the house, through a narrow lane with houses on either side, without a road or pavement so it must be a place my subconscious reconstructed from one of my childhood memories.

And surprisingly she sits next to the driver’s seat in her black dress under a dark night. I only hear the sound of the engine as I roll my car back somewhere to park it safely and not be an obstruction in this narrow lane as she bends and puts her face on my left shoulder. She wraps her hands around me, tilting her face over my back and saying some sweet nothings.


Funny, I wishes to dream of her this time. Like the time before it. But not the the very first time when it happened almost 2 years back.


Now the question is, what is happening to me if it is happening occasionally. I ponder if it is a love thing or just someone I fancy too much or too much attraction.

Then I look at her face. I could spend all night driving her around and keep staring at her. Did I mention, one of the elderly gentlemen is her father?

my personal diary

“I am grateful to the world and its people, for if it hadn’t been so as it has been, a series of waves, turbulences, undercurrents of anger, betrayal and the feeling of being pushed; if it hadn’t been for poking me, hurting me, challenging me, I wouldn’t have been toppled from my ever slumbering fairy-tale of a quiet and relatively prolonged childhood and dragged into a relatively mature and pragmatic world that would pierce me like thorns, undesired yet no way out, until it enraged me so much so as to scream loud enough with affirmation to build a body of steel, focus on one dream, that one achievement that will accomplish everything that comes in my life. This is my mission. And I am a missionary. I salivate in hunger to achieve my goals. It is a slap back at whatever it is that played around with me.

Was it my fate unfolding.

Whom am I slapping back?


What deeds unfolded that dragged me into this?

I need to clear my head, resolve these issues. A child in me is hurt. I am doing whatever I am to empower this child so no one can hurt him, topple him ever again. It sounds revengeful but I hurt no one. I keep everything to myself and probably hurt myself further. Is it time to release? Is it time yet to show off? Is it time I show to the world that this child has grown up? You cannot toy with him anymore. He is secure. He is ever-growing. He has that power that shields him from any blow? He doesn’t want to cry. He wants his peace back. He wants his childhood back. He wants the good things in life back. Simple little good things is all his life is about.

He wants to prove that he can and go back to where he was. Ever happy and playing in his world. That’s all he wants. And a happy world.”

A Scorpion on my wall

You can keep those secrets,
You can keep those stones,
All that you want to keep,
she will keep them as her own.

You can hide as long as it takes,
till you figure out she knows it all along.
Yes, she can keep your secrets,
And she can keep your stones,
All that thing you’ve been keeping in your head,
She can keep ém all.

You can keep her by your side,
You can make her your own,
She don’t like to share her thoughts,
There’s no such thing as right or wrong,
So you can still keep your own.

She can top all the charts,
She can work all alone,
And you will find her right by your side,
Wondering how did she do it all along.

It will last than what longer means,
Longer with us two alone,
But you can keep your secrets,
and still do it all night long.

Whatever that means I wonder is up to your head,
but you can keep your own.
Cause she will keep your secrets,
Like she keeps her own.

I like the winner that chases you,
I like that obsession more,
’cause winning is the secret,
Do it all the more.

I have one confession,
I may’ve been lookin’ at all the places wrong,
I couldn’t keep this secret so I,
wrote it on my Wall.

keep up with the faith to keep,
keep one hand in arms,
it’ll be like this perfect picture framed for life,
so that you can throw those stones.

you can keep your secrets
you can keep your stones
But if you got the nerves to share,
then she will keep ’em as her own.

–The secret admirer

The beautiful past before everything – i

“Nothing goes waste.”

I said to myself. Overwhelmed for a moment, I took a deep breath.

Beetles squealed as they made their signature noise. Why are they so many in numbers. One out of every four animals is a beetle after all! Amazed, I pondered at that thought for a moment.

“And that’s too much noise on a silent night!” I said to myself as I walked across the room to close the wooden door that looked over the balcony.

I unwrapped an envelope I’d been holding for too long, in my head rather, my hands holding them for a moment, for I couldn’t gather the strength to let those years of nostalgia flow back in my head. I caressed it, closed my eyes and remembered how she must have penned down words after words, expressing her feelings.

She tried so hard. I told myself.

“You didn’t need to.”  She would have heard in an utopian world. But that is not where I am. And I must push those letters back in. Let me sink into this feeling, that I’ve developed a sickness towards these days. Pondering over forgotten past is nothing gained.


The Meeting

“Do you remember?” I asked her.

She quietly stared back at me, her affirmative gesture in her eyes and a short lived hum.

When I remember those days, I still hear us talk, our excited souls, hands clenched onto the phone yet softly we held onto each others’ conversations. To be young and in love. A teenage love affair. Those were the days of passionate nights and long unforgiving afternoons.

One fine hot sunny day, her name alone had my attention fixated upon her. And only I know how I managed to speak to a lady for an indefinite time, for the very first time in my blooming teenage life. I talked in a subtle manner. I must have sounded moronic but nevertheless I felt suave.

I could sense in her, that excitement one has when one is guilty and excited of doing something secretly, out of the ordinary and how she enjoyed that. I gave her my number to bring her to confidence. She was unwilling at first of course, that was our very first time…

(To be Contd.)

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Only a weak strain of light shimmers in the backdrop. The tides raise their pitch. It disturbs her. I cover her up with the quilt a little more as the evening sets in.


A Nostalgic Dream

Taking not one stop past Nilgiris, we had left the old Mumbai road far behind as if a distant memory. The breeze from Arabian sea pacified the moist and sweet summer through the silk curtains in the dark room as the wind blew over my face while I lay in my bed, a sweet lullaby to my ears. 

I think I overslept for she was nowhere near to be found. Stepping out towards the porch, over the steep cliff I could hear the maestros playing by the palm trees cast in the backdrop. I take it to be somewhat of a grand function organized by our gracious hosts for their private amusement who had been kind enough to leave us undisturbed for our own little honeymoon.

An exhilarating feeling, as I took a deep breath, amazed by a life of contrasts. Here and there.

“Here, I have no concerns for tomorrow will be just like today” I said to myself.

Unlike the bustling streets, the unforgiving traffic and hyper metros of Mumbai, what lay before me were beautiful palm trees, white sands glittering like diamonds for sale and a beautiful woman behind me bringing something very familiar she  had found earlier in the morning, in her hands.

“The breeze never stops does it, here?” I asked her.

“And its always that sweet smell from this porch. It’s beautiful.” She said as she crossed her arms around my arm.

I remember her words so vividly. Her eyebrows arched up as she raised her head, eyes pointing at me, hair flowing with no destination in mind.

“Was it you humming in the washroom?” I asked her slyly.

She nodded, handing me a fresh cup of coffee handpicked from the garden of our very own little guest house, then doing her hair with her hands. At every step, I glance her with a different perspective.

(To be Contd.)

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Celestial Flight

Time was knocking on my door
And when I opened
Suddenly the gush of wind caught me
And pulled me along with it
I was flying, being in its arms
And experiencing the space at last
Where there was no emotion
Not a residue of hallucination
As I rose higher , I saw the glitter
The bejeweled sky and the earth as star
“How mean!”, I asked the wind
“You want to possess me,
You took me so far.”
And then it replied,
Not that I don’t want to possess
not that I don’t want to love
But my fair lady,
can you know the beauty by being below
Can you measure the magnitude of the glow
See with me ,see the sun and the moon
See the morning glory and moonlight charm
I am the one who knows all the beauty and that’s why you are in my arms

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Neurasthenia – i

Great Expectations. Chasing Time. Hurried Life. Neon Lights.

Closes eyes. It’s sunrise or sunset. Waves playing melody to my ears. Under a black and white lens, I can see all the shades of her skin. The feature of her nose, her eyes, hair flying tuned to the rhythm of the breeze.

No more ads, no more noise. The clutter of information far in the distance now. Grains of sand my friends, they give me company watching her embrace the winds, soak up the weakening sunlight. Black and white is all grey. The divide between fast life and gradual real life.

No more hollowness, dissatisfaction due to a perception that others are living ‘that’ life where they have it all. This is a sense of completeness. Having nothing in my hands but the strands of her hair. Makes me feel superior, full, satisfied, glowing and at peace. Contrast it with the feeling two years back, trying to get out there and reach it..silly me. Life’s like some traveller show in a beach with white house and a white sailing boat and beautiful partner walking on white sands.

Great expectations to become that figment of our imaginations.

“..This intense burning desire you have..” She says. On the part of common people to become millionaires, or merchant princes, or railroad kings, or something beyond their powers and opportunities, where no hero rules, she has lived that silly life. Netted brassier, doing the jive, shaking her hips slow to the beat, inviting me into her comfort zone where everything zaps out.

“Welcome to the limbo land.” I try to tease her.

“No this is not that.”

Driven by our aspirations, imaginations, thoughts and information, everything explosive by nature and here we are stilled and silenced.

“This is what the world needs.” I tell her. A gradual push of her hands and we are back underneath our purple sheets. The sun shines through the glass.

“I love this rhythm. It’s the beat of this soil.” I tell her.

Far away from the modern sickness of neurasthenia.

The lovely but silent barren hills have something to give. I turn my head up embracing the gentle warmth of the sun, looking over the sky in all its discipline, leaving all the flutters and mutters to us humans. As she sleeps on the sands of this beach, a lady sings atop a mountain nearby a long forgotten lore. Soon the sun will set. The silent mountains fascinate me.

‘A little stroll and I’ll be there.’ I think to myself. The sweetness in her voice is evident, like the sweet and tangy pulp of a ripe orange.

This is the setting, this is that holiday. This is the day everything starts on a lotus leaf, a little boy floats in the silent sea before me, in the midst of strong waves, when she comes from the far above, in the sky adored with all kinds of exotic jewels one could think of, reminding the boy on the leaf of who he is. This is the setting.