Sleep
Afternoon naps are a double edged pleasure. The best, deepest sleep comes to me when outside, the sea breeze is setting in, the sun is hot but the room is cool. The edge is the vivid, often horrible dreams that accompany this deep slumber. I use this word deliberately. It’s only in the afternoon that I can feel myself descend into layer upon layer of heaviness. I literally slump into a world where imagination takes over and the subconscious is held hostage to whatmighthavebeens and ifonlys…coming out of it is a real struggle, like fighting my way out of a sea of cotton wool.
I dream about lost people. It comes without warning, their memories may not have crossed my conscious mind for years sometimes. Some dreams involve rescuing them from improbable situations. Others have me bumping into them, and they either know me and try to avoid me or worse, they don’t know me at all.
I dream often of a small sea side town I’ve never been to in real life. There is a cafe on the pier. My brother is a waiter there. Sometimes he’s wearing his baggy red pants, the ones that got him bullied mercilessly in college. He walks away from me, wading into the water to escape. Or I beg him to come back. He smiles ironically and says, No, this is where he belongs. He is happy in this little town. Either way, it ends with me in tears and him seemingly unconcerned.
Another recurring motif is sitting with old friends on the porch outside our house. We are talking quietly, someone is always holding me, comforting me. Often, someone reaches across my closest friend, who sits protectively next to me, and gives my hand a squeeze. These are friends whom I haven’t met for at least 25 years. A reunion is called for, my subconscious thinks.
An odd one is of a snow storm here in Mumbai. I am shielding someone from the worst of it. I don’t always recognise the person I’m protecting but he or she is always tall and bulky, well padded against the weather. Yet, it is me, wearing regular summer time clothes, who takes the brunt of the wind and flying icicles on my face. It feels like I may lose this person in the swirling snow. I never do. I wake up exhausted from fighting the fury of the storm.
A nice dream is of walking into my empty college campus. It has been raining, the air is cool and damp. I can smell the distinctive fragrance of the cycas and the greenery. I am often accompanied by a friend but we don’t talk. We just walk down the long driveway, past the auditorium, the cycas lining the entrance to the lovely Science Block behind them. This is a good one.
These are some of my afternoon dreams. Most are without sound or sensation. They are disturbing but harmless and fleeting. Just once, I woke up with an old taste in my mouth. It was so startling, so familiar, so personal that I woke up crying. That is not a dream I ever want to have again. It was too real, too vivid and I was disoriented for days afterwards.
Afternoon naps. Forty five minutes is a good rest. Anything more and the dreams come crashing in. I wonder why these are called night terrors or nightmares. Mine are reserved for broad daylight.
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I dream about the lost people.
When my eyes snap open
It is not night not dark and cold
But a breezy summer afternoon.
I dream about what was.
A warm cocoon of love
And understanding and care
Ripped open by the creature within.
I dream about what could have been.
Life and hope and dreams
Woven together a world apart.
Then a thread unravels…
I dream about the lost people.
And wake up with a smile
Because life is good
And the lost people were lost long ago.