Dream Girl Kisi Shayar ki Ghazal (or Oh-hell-cant-I-write-a-random-post-instead-of-working?)

I had a rather vague dream yesterday - about Muslim fundamentalists’ (of all things). I am going in a car with Ma somewhere, and suddenly some very violent, virulent ladies start pelting us with rocks. One of these rocks hit’s Ma’s head, she starts bleeding, and acting very disoriented. So for most of the dream (or what I remember of it), I am trying to lob back some rocks (and doing so quite accurately), worrying about whether Ma has concussion and wondering how to get out of the situation. Somewhere along the lines, it morphs into a train scene then a dhobi seems to feature in it and some cops eating paan. Mind you, all of this happening to the background music of Salaam-e-ishq.

On a scale of weirdness, I would probably have given this 3.5 or so.

Well, I HAVE dreamt of dolphins speaking fluent, mellifluous Bengali after all – that’s a tough act to follow. Something about an office picnic on a beach and dolphin gets washed up ashore, and starts babbling. The admin fellow, in the manner of admin-fellows, tries to locate Bengali colleague to do the needful. This dolphin then proceeds to turn to a VERY ugly man in a wet white-kurta-pyjama.

Then there was the time, I dreamt of Prince William impregnating some chick and ending up in a UK tabloid (Mind you I hadn’t thought of the princes for years. No reason to no?) . For some reason, there is a vociferous discussion about hairstyles happening with William, and this again, has the background score from Neil and Nikki. (A movie which of course I hadn’t watched – I mean Uday Chopra? And had bombed miserably some two or three years before this dream happened).

Frankly, I LOVE my dreams. I have a much more rollicking time in them than I ever have had in real life. And it’s all Technicolor, there is usually background music in it (even if it is etcetera music) and there is normally lot of action and excitement in it.

Whether it is the time a couple of friends and I am smuggling doped-out-bodies ala jaane-bhi-do-yaaro and being chased around town by my friend’s octogenarian family-retainer-named-ajibai. Or watching completely coherent sequels to Fight Club. Or cowering somewhere because of Alien invasions, wearing a silver plated miniaturized chip on our necks for protection. Or running away from two-inch crocodiles (on a leash) that are hell bent on eating my big toe nail. Or watching a vague cousin-in-law turn into a cannibal in freezing Minnesota, who is ... okay, I will spare the details, certainly not suitable for the weak stomached.

Incidentally, I am so BRIGHT in these dreams it’s amazing. I solve complicated quantum physics problems, concoct delectable recipes, read engrossing sequels to books, watch very logical sequels to movies, and am generally so multitalented that I generally give the waking avatar , a massive inferiority complex.

The curious thing is that there is usually no, (or at best) a very tenuous link to what is happening in my life at that moment. I was reading about Wakf yesterday – so might explain the Muslim bit. But seriously, where does the dhobi come into the picture?
Most of the times I am left racking my brains wondering what on earth could have set it off. I wonder what Freud uncle would have made out of these. Hmmm.

P.S. I have forgotten a vast number of them, so the new resolution is to post them for posterity.
P.P.S Also this way I get to shirk working on things which should have been dispatched one hour ago. Sigh