1
This is off of a dream I had.
There is a lot of pressure to remember the contents of this dream; so much so that there is a chance I will overwhelm myself in the process.
Pressurizing the mind to remember something deep in or far away is mightily counterproductive. I still do it, maybe out of habit than anything else.
This is one of the best dreams I have ever had, hence the pressure to conjure all the details and all the action.
But I need to relax the body and the mind for the memories to find their way on their own.
2
In this particular realm of the Sandman, I have just started living in a cottage-like house. It is a dwelling in Pune, and I have only lived in rented spaces in the said city. Hence I suppose it is also a rented place.
Somehow, I have got to live in this huge cottage. It is a bit farther away from the city-area, because of which I have been able to own sole-occupation here (as such residences are expensive).
There is a sharp feeling of comfort I experienced in this place.
This house was humungous. For this same reason (in real life) I had agreed to live in a 3BHK row house in Hadapsar, Pune, with 2 floors, front and back garden, and abundant terrace-area (it came with a housemate right out of my nightmares).
This cottage was probably just a scaled-up and ultra-romanticized version of the row house I lived in, reminding me of its coziness and ampleness.
3
The dream was extremely detailed and dramatic, but when I woke up, I couldn’t recall much, which was frustrating. I remembered the set-up of one room, which had a charm of an olden European domicile.
This expanse was modeled somewhat like my grandmother’s room in our old house (purana ghar), not so much in furnishings and paraphernalia but in feel. It was old and sturdy, with an ornately carved and high off the ground-bed and beautiful, heavy curtains.
It had Penny Dreadful-like dark undertones and a signature Victorian English-drama ambiance. In hindsight, it was very little like my grandmother’s room. So much for trying to remember.
Everything was a magnified version of real life, both in size and in grandeur.
It probably started off as an urban dwelling, but slowly turned into a rural one, with a green field right outside the house. It reminded me of my Mother’s Nani ghar in Danapur, for it too had a ground next to it. In a visual sense, it was somewhat an amalgamation of a lush, green Maharshtrian pastureland of the Western Ghats and what I consider a Scottish countryside.
There was more going for it than the obvious visual treat.
A small city has lesser people wandering about. Everything takes place at a slow speed, and there is less activity all around. The charm of a place which does not want you to rush about and dash around is immense.
There was no sense of time in this place. I could read novels and graphic novels all day with no one reminding me of what I needed to do or what time it was.
4
I don’t even remember if I was the protagonist in the dream, or if that person had the same circumstances as me as in occupation, duties, and interpersonal obligations (like I fulfill any).
Or it could be an escape from it all. Probably Morpheus tools some dreams in a way to make me feel better, and relax a little. Although he also fabricates alternative ones so I start my day on the back foot, and be completely tormented (story on nightmares to follow some time later).
A dream-like state is like being tipsy; the world seems to have different rules. There are no chains holding back the fluttering desires and the feral imaginations. But with all kinds of drunkenness and higher intoxications, we obviously stay right where we were in our place in the world.
Momentary escape is a good release. But otherwise, life seeks balance and that everything is accounted for. Right now, when I am on a sabbatical, I have devised a system to so I learn and keep my mind sharp, so I can maintain a sense of purpose and accomplishment. We don’t live in a bottle. Balance is key.
5
Dreams are weird. The space we inhabit in them changes at the story progresses. Does it mirror our wants and desires, or our fears and insecurities? I have to read the ‘Interpretation of Dreams’ to find out. I have read somewhere these reveries of sleep are works of our subconscious.
There’s an issue. I almost always forget the happenings in the moments of calm slumber. However much I love what I saw, and more importantly what I felt, I most often forget all of it. It just abandons me, which is a pity.
After I have just woken up, I am exceptionally tired and lazy and remembering and jotting down the contents of the dream is just physically impossible. One needs great drive and willpower to force oneself to pen down the particulars of the vision.
6
But they are fantastic adventures, amazing vessels for the escapist ship. You wander around in known and unknown worlds, being yourself or someone else.
When you are in somebody else’s body, in unknown places and assumingly zero responsibilities, are the most exciting variety. You can fly and fuck and it feels awesome.
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