Dream

A most vicious dream. Dreams are worthless. They are not worth a wink. The worst with a nightmare is that it seldom is a nightly activity. A nightmare could happen two in the afternoon on a hot dry day when you are driving down a bouncy highway. Like it happened with me. Two seconds back. It wasnt a bad dream to start with, but as it progressed it just became uglier. It was like this beatiful mansion that turns haunted in a hundred years. Only its not hundred years in my case, more like an equivalent in seconds.

I come out of it in a flash and tighten my grip on the steering wheel. It has been fifteen hours of driving, with three stops, the shortest being thirty minutes and the longest being one hour, and zero minutes of sleep. Eight straight hours have so far been spent in driving alone. Well, not quite. A single song is playing on back to back for the past eight hours. By design. The song is now sounding more horrible than that hit, and its function has now reduced to making me irritated, hence keeping me awake.

I roll down the windows. A wave of heat hits my face. I know I need sleep. This is not acceptable on a national highway. You just can not drive drunk and awake for fifteen hours.

It had all started last night, when we, civilised and sober gentlemen, wanted to see the midnight Christmas mass in St. Paul's Cathedral. Till the midnight gongs we were indeed civilised and sober. And then the beginning of the worse.

I stop my car on the side of the road. There is a half open tea shop, half closed because of the heat and the lack of traffic. The sole person manning the shop is sleeping upright on a chair. I believe he is dreaming. A nightmare. I hope to relieve him of his misery, so I try to wake him up.

He was not dreaming; not aestivating; not even taking a nap. He senses my presence two feet away from him and asks what kind of tea I would prefer; his eyes still closed. I reply I need a big cup of tea, ohne Milch, ohne Zucker. And I most urgently need a khatiya. Lets see how long the man can continue to sleep upright. The man manages to fool me. With his eyes shut he barks two commands directed at two yet unseen people. The woman puts the kettle to boil and the man lays down my rustic bed. I fall on it. And pass out.

I wake up with a thousand stars hanging above me.

Have I lost the battle for survival, or have I lost myself?

Maybe I have just lost my way. But I have definitely lost my sleep, hangover, and tiredness. And I have lost my desire to pursue the unknown, unseen dream. I will now happily live the nightmare. And I will try to be happily alive.

I pay the man who helped me out, and walk towards my car. The journey begins again, destination unknown, but calling out loud. The song doesn’t change, the path doesn’t change, but the desire to continue does. Happy ending and good beginning.