Lately my dreams have been very vivid. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I have been pretty upset and worried over a variety of things. But I have been making notes in my head about the dreams. Time to put them down.
I have always been an avid dreamer, both awake and otherwise. But this one’s about the sleeping dreams, the ones I have no control over, the ones that seamlessly blend into my night, sometimes making me wake with a start, sometimes making me reach for a glass of water. Typically the edges have frayed over the days, but the vivid images that have remained go something like this.
I’m in a strange house. We have moved. It is not a new house but it’s not a familiar place. Food is being cooked. We have had lunch and have friends for company. Yet on the frying pan are sausages being cooked. The meaty, oily masala ones, I’m not talking about sterile frankfurters here. In the kitchen lie the skinned carcasses of street dogs. Much like meat hanging at the butcher’s: white and clean. I think aloud that these should be hung up to save space. As I look out of the kitchen, (there’s a small garden there) I see a medium sized pup playing with my girls, they are rough and there is a lot of nipping. I turn away and the dog tries to nip at the seat of my jeans, I reach out to catch it and maybe wring it’s neck but I don’t. I wake up instead.
Of course I was sort of distressed. I looked up dogs, dead dogs, skinned dogs but could not find anything that could really be called an explanation. Dead dog means death of a friend. So say the online dictionaries and the dog nipping at me could have something to do with betrayal. “Could have,” “may mean”….. you see? I’m no master of symbolism.
Moving on, over the next few nights I dreamed of a forest fire, and a white cat. Living in a strange place on the top of a huge tree trunk, clambering down with ropes. An idol of Shiva that rose from the river and sank back underwater after evening prayers. The moon reflected on the flooded muddy path in front of me.
And then last night it was fish. Hilsa to be exact. I bought it at a supermarket where it was sliced, prepared, marinated and cooked. Elaborately. Then I went driving around the streets of Bombay with a small red car chasing and me and returned to collect the Hilsa. My deceased father-in-law was with me and we invited members of the family to join us for a meal. But I didn’t get round to eating it. The alarm rang.
And the best thing is, I dislike fish in general and don’t particularly care for hilsa either.
So what do the dreams mean? And why are they so clear? Why do I remember them? Will they later make sense? Or are they doomed to forever remain in a corner of my diary of dreams?