Moonlit Sunshine

Have you ever watched an amazing, high-budget movie, packed with over-the-top drama, starring your own near and dear ones, while you were cuddled up under your amma’s silk saree in the middle of the night before a boring Monday morning? Sigh. I have.

The filter coffee I bolted down the next morning did NOT pull me out of my sleep! Sweltering, I went up to the window to see if the sun had risen from the west. I stopped half-way across the hallway, to find my dad sipping coffee, engrossed in the love-of-his-life.. The Times of India. I closed my eyes, panting, hoping for something. He brought the cup down, after a sip of coffee and Yes! His moustache was right there, below his nose! “That’s real, illiya?”, I asked him, pointing at his moustache. He felt it, and then realized I was rubbing off my stupidity on him, for whatever God-forsaken reason and gave me the never-before stern + confused + irked look, which meant, it was time for me to go wash my face and leave him alone with his love. I did.

I deserved another cup of coffee that morning. I went to the balcony with my second cup of coffee, trying to escape the weird stare appa gave me, still making sure his moustache was real.

The balcony felt blissful, I do not know why. I spent ages there, trying to recollect why I behaved like a weirdo. I felt remorseful because I could not imagine my dad (sans his moustache) as a truck driver, or my mom with a bob cut! Why did I have to witness all of this? What wrong had I done, to anyone?

Nevertheless, the dream (or whatever, hmph.) ought to be described from the beginning till the end. Ok. As stated before, my dad, who is the Vice-President of Axis Bank, was a truck-driver. The truck, one with an infinite weight-limit, could apparently bear the weight of entire tower I live in. I live on the 13th floor. (That’s true by the way). I do not know whether my home is jinxed, but it surely was, in the stupid dream. Anyway, dad drove the truck, happily, with my building on it. I don’t care if you cannot imagine it. Mom, meanwhile, was all smiles with her brand new hairdo.. a bob cut!! Her knee-length hair, which was internationally acclaimed (by all my relatives overseas), was gone! And I, ladies and gentlemen, a stoic, was totally unaffected by all the upside-down changes around me. Like I asked for more, dad did nothing but drove, up a hill.

Then, I behave like a zealot, jumping with joy, like I made a discovery no one would possibly dream of. I spot my aunt’s bungalow on a plain land, protruding out of the road that made its way along the hill. Eh? Yea. Dad stops the truck. I walk out of the tower, galloping my way with amma to my aththai (aunt)’s place. She opens the door and is surprised to see us. We walk in and she calls out to her son.. Tushar. Tushar, in real life, is my old colony friend’s cousin brother, who was fortunate enough to grab a role in my dream. Lucky boy. We chat, eat, drink, sleep, wake up and leave for home.

We get onto the truck, all the way up to the thirteenth floor. I get back to lazing around. Dad starts the truck and continues driving up the hill, to I don’t know where. The real drama unleashes. Nature, apparently mad because she didn’t get a role in my high-budget dream movie, makes a cameo, with her very famous “blow”. Either dad drove at 120000 kmph up the hill, hence the tower bent backwards, or a really peeved wind uncle spat at the tower, with all his might. The 20-storeyed building I lived in BENT backwards! My sofa almost chewed me up, but I managed to make my way out. Now, that was a near-death experience!

I jumped from my balcony, down to dad, to figure out what had gone wrong. As we spoke, a helicopter hit the tower and the tower crumbled down. Thankfully, mom was with us, cleaning the driver’s seat, without disturbing dad. I ran to the tower and found corpses lying amidst the debris. I saw a taxi with a father and his son, having an earth-shattering conversation about whether or not to send the son to attend tuition classes.

I ran back to my aththai’s place, hoping to find some solace. Tushar opened the door and asked me, “Did it hit your tower?” Without waiting for my reaction to his baseless question, he continued, “I told mom not to send the helicopter!” Aththai entered from the kitchen with a sorry-ish smile and said, well, “Sorry.”

I rushed back to the truck, just to find everything back to normal.. Dad happily driving the truck with the tower on it, mom with the mop and the bob (Hmph.), the sofa back in its place.

Something struck me and I decided to put an end to the crap that had conquered my senses for an entire night and I opened my eyes, making my way to the exit door of the theatre.

All I can say after experiencing the trauma is that there should be a law, which puts a limit on the stupidity level of a dream. It can spoil a day, a week or an entire month. The impact on me has not died down, evidently. I have resorted to praying to the Almighty every night, asking him NOT to try me if He’s bored. Even if He does, He should supplement the dreams with something more sensible, which could perhaps enhance my belief that every dream means something.