A Nonsensical About Dreams

I love to dream. Now, please don’t brouhaha about this, or have even a slightest impression that my dreams are in any way like that of great Martin Luther. My dreams are literally dreams – classic culminations of daily experiences through sub-conscious mind in sleep and are often weird, embarrassing, foggy and confused.

And I remember most of my dreams. I thought of it a gift like that of a superhero, until one day my heart shrank inches after ‘discovering’ that most people dream and remember those dreams. Even dogs dream.

I have few recurring themes, which cycle themselves throughout a sleep at night. And the weirdest and best of those is a world, where me and my ‘big’ daughter Vedantika are survivor turned fighters in an alien infected dystopian earth. Another often recurring theme is my village, which is modified and transformed into a town with modern transport and amenities, and then I fight to protect my family from brutal invaders, cloaked in black robes. Sometimes, I dream of the school from my childhood, which is infected with beasts and monsters. And in most of the dreams, the themes interchange or intersperse in their thousands of combinations, making each and every dream unique and entertaining.

I thought they meant nothing. I sometimes discussed those funny and ridiculous dreams with Taniya at morning, and Taniya made fun of me, and wondered why had I those dreams at first place. But I never dig deep to understand and analyze what my sub-conscious mind was showing me off.

But that changed a few days ago. I woke up one dawn - panting. I just had a vivid dream of someone dying, someone close. It was so real that for few seconds, I believed that it happened. Tears rolled and heart beat rose. I was so confused that it didn’t occurred to me that I stayed alone – and in the dream, I just had, I was with that dying person. How was that possible?

Slowly heart calmed down and I wiped of beads of tears with the soaked bed sheet. The ‘dreaded’ world was finally gone, when I splattered cold water on face and looked at the mirror. It was just a dream, a nightmare. It wasn’t real.

Then in subway, while being sandwiched by countless combinations, I googled ‘why I have so much dreams and solutions’ in my mobile. I read a few articles, including a lucid one from Quora. I didn’t mind when a girl pushed me and took my comfortable place at the corner of door. I even didn’t bother when a guy stamped my foot and wasn’t even sorry. I just kept reading until my station came.

And the best one was, ‘when you dream too much, specially bad ones, and your voice is choked with fear, probably your body needs to be chilled down - just drink gallons of chilled beer.’