Skip to main content

Waking Dream

In my dream I was sleeping. A was shaking my hand.

“Achaya..wake up.. wake up.. I can’t find the books.”

“What books ? ”

“The ones I kept in the box yesterday. The box is empty now.”

“Yeah, the books walked away. You ignored them for too long. You know indifference is a punishment more severe than hatred.” (Sorry. I’m sometimes sarcastic when woken up from sleep)

“He he ! stupid joke.” (clap, clap ! here is someone who doesn’t take offense.)

I went with her to the inner room. She was showing me the empty box.

“How could it be. I’m so certain that I took all the books sprawled under the bed and put it into this box. ”

I gave a sheepish smile - “I know I know.. ”

I took the box in my hand and turned it upside down. Opened it from the other end. All the books were there.

“Wow !”

“This is a magician’s box.”

I wanted to show her the trapdoor and explain it to her.
But at that moment my eyes caught ‘Histories’ - Histories by Herodotus.

Suddenly, everything dissolved. There was no box. There was no A.
I was looking through a window into a room in which a nurse was reading this book to a burnt, faceless man on a bed. The man was recounting his past and the scenes were flashing on the wall behind.

I could see Katherine reading the book by a fire - time leapt forward - now Almasy is leaving the injured Katherine in a cave - is walking in the desert for days - tragedy ! - he is captured by Germans - now he is back in a glider - carries her dead body in his arms - ....
It was a story in which everybody had a story - a sad story. Afterall it was a time of war.

The movie ends with Hana reading Katherine’s words written on the margins of the last few pages of Herodotus. As Hana escapes from the monastery, Katherine's voice is heard ..

"We die. We die rich with lovers and tribes. Tastes we have swallowed... bodies we have entered and swum up like rivers. Fears we've hidden in, like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. We're the real countries. Not the boundaries drawn on maps -- the names of powerful men. I know you'll come and carry me out into the palace of winds. That's all I've wanted. To walk in such a place with you. With friends. An earth without maps."

I bought ‘Histories’ the next day after I saw the movie, but never read it.

Now it’s 4 AM.
I’m awake wondering why I dreamt about 'Histories' and 'The English patient'.
I’ve taken the book out of the shelf.
It’s totally unlike the worn out, dog eared one in the movie, the actual kind of books that I love to read. It is fresh and new. I’ve always loved the old books. The books which someone has read. To think that someone went through exactly the same experiences as I’m about to go through makes me happy I guess.
I’m sitting here thinking the same thoughts, feeling the same feelings, of the undercurrent of undying love in ‘The English Patient’. I close my eyes and I can see the images flashing. Can I go back to my dream now ? After all, it is the dream that got me this feeling. Can I go back to the dream through this feeling ?

Comments

Ash said…
Bravo!!! Thx for taking the time to write :). Merci Monsieur.
Ash said…
Write till your ink be dry... :)
Shakespeare

Books, books, books!
I had found the secret of a garret-room
Piled high with cases in my father's name;
Piled high, packed large,- where, creeping in and out
Among the giant fossils of my past,
Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs
Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there
At this or that box, pulling through the gap,
In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy,
The first book first. And how I felt it beat
Under my pillow, in the morning's dark,
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books!
Elizabeth Browning

Popular posts from this blog

The Spinning Melody and the Gateway

Reading "The Proof of Heaven" by Dr. Eben Alexander is almost like experiencing the NDE that he went through, to really be at the hospital with him where his loved ones were holding his hand 24/7 while he was in a coma, to be with him while he went through the underground, the gateway and the core back and forth experiencing the bright light and the melodious songs and the angelic being, to be able to hear with the whole being without anyone talking, to be able to see without physical eyes, to not have a concept of time, to feel a divine presence and be overjoyed to the fullest.  I wasn't feeling well over this long weekend. Couldn't go out because I didn't want to spread the flu around. Couldn't watch TV or browse the net since eyes were hurting. Couldn't sleep because, I'd start coughing the moment I was in bed. So though of reading a book that I'd wanted to read for a couple of months. A had finished reading and told me the gist, but I wanted...

The Other World

"Ankle deep, he waded through the bluebells. His spirit rose and exalted... as he breathed in the sun-drenched air. The glorious day was in its last decline. Long shadows lay on the sward... and from above the leaves dripped their shimmering drops of gold-green light. Moths and butterflies swarmed in merry hosts... flittering here, glimmering there. But, hush. Could that be a deer?" When we were searching for "Tess of d'Urbervilles" in the library memories rushed in, almost overwhelming me.  Memories of school days when I would look at a bookshelf and see different worlds, when Hercule Poirot and Dirk Pitt and Sherlock Holmes loomed larger than life, when the reality of life was less real than those in books,  when my sadness and happiness and mood changes did not depend on what happened in the life I was living but in the lives of characters that I was closely following,  when even though the only place I had been to, other than Bangalore, that too occasionally...

Makar Chudra – Maxim Gorky

With no offence to gypsies , the name reminds me of some below-the-belt curse in hindi or Malayalam or tamil . some bad name ! but that particular fact would make me not forget this name. it’s stuck to my mind. The story starts with Makar , an aged gypsy conversing with the author. It is dark , the wind is heavy , the campfire is blazing furiously ..yet Makar , smoking his huge pipe , was unfazed. It was as though these heavy conditions never affected him.(reminds me of Vikram-Betal stories of chandamama ! it was dark , the night was heavy , yet Vikram was unfazed. He climbed the tree , pulled the corpse out . as he started walking away with it , the corpse on his shoulder came to life !!!) . Makar is of the opinion that people are born to travel; that there is nothing better than traveling. “ A curious lot people are ; they herd together trampling on each other when there is so much of space-” . he asks why a man should be ploughing a field . “ A man who ploughs land pours his streng...