I am a dreamer. I dream every night. They are long-winding technicolour dreams. And the best part is- I remember my dreams vividly. Just this morning I was dreaming a multi-part dream (they do exist, if you didn’t know- episode wise!) about a very interesting theme. And suddenly a piercing Anshoooo penetrates that world of fantasies. Who is the rude intruder? Hubby dear, of course!
It happens so frequently, that I’m frustrated. So many lovely stories where I don’t know what happened in the end. Simply because he woke me up from my picturesque slumber with an insensitive yell. Someone should train people in the art of waking people up gently. Hubby for sure needs a seven-day workshop in this with a refresher every six months.
I have this habit of preparing for my lectures or talks early in the morning when the world is asleep. I mean, at a really unearthly hour- like 3 am. And when the concept I have to drive in is difficult, and I need to simplify the topic, I invariably get up around 3, read, and spend an hour or two formulating my thoughts in the silence. And to feel fresh at work, I go off to bed again at around 4,30 to catch up with my missing sleep. That phase in the morning, between 4,30 and 6 is when I dream my best most happening dreams – and remember each detail too. I really look forward to that sleep.
But no. Suddenly I feel as if my shoulder will give way. I am rudely woken up with heavyweight thumps on my humerus as if someone was hammering a brick wall. What a nasty way to be woken up from a world of fascinating world of make-believe!
Some days I wonder what it will be to be woken up to someone caressing your hair with sweet nothings. But no. For now I have to deal with the Dara Singh of destruction- who just bulldozes through my dreams, ripping them into multiple shards of nothingness . Just my luck!