by Vani Viswanathan
Can one have fun in their dreams? Certainly, and for many, that may be one of their few sources of fun. Can one have fun dreams? Of course – especially if you have imagination that’s on hyper drive, like it is for me.
Sample my dream this morning, which I’m writing about soon after waking up. There’s a person in political office – a non-Indian head of a state, but with an old, Indian-looking father who wears kurta pyjama. The father has been suffering from Alzheimer’s and this comes in the way of the political ambitions of our president man, who devises a way of getting him killed – a laughably simple but effective idea. They have a glass elevator running along the height of their tall house (who wouldn’t?). President man rides up and down the elevator, giving childish glee to the father who watches in fascination, clapping in joy. Father walks over to the elevator shaft (there are no doors, I don’t know why), and plunges to his death. The dream goes on about how Mr. President holds a funeral in great sorrow but his brothers-in-law know what he’s done. However, they are complicit in the crime; they have no qualms hiding his role as long as he gives them a copy of a new movie that they can watch in the car on their way home! The things people do to avert law…
Before or after this dream – that I can’t remember – I dreamt about the food being served in a friend’s wedding, which I couldn’t attend in real life. The large green banana leaf, the spinach, the appalam, vadai and payasam, and the fact that I got late for the dinner while my other friends had started eating, all because I was busy in conversation with – wait for it – Rajini the superstar. Superstar was candid, talking about how he loves ice cream and how one of his daughters had introduced him to ‘Hagen Das’ (yes sir, Häagen Dazs, I tell him, before asking him to definitely try the Belgian Chocolate flavour.)
Now, none of this detail is imagined while I write – this is all straight from my dream. For an hour or two after I wake up, while my mind is still fresh, I usually remember the vivid hues and intricate details in my dreams. I remember what the people wore – the president had on a black tux while he participated in his father’s death, since he had some party to get to, Rajni wore a simple white kurta-chudidar – and how the places in my dreams were lit – soft yellow-green light streaming in through the glass elevator, and tube-lit white in the wedding hall where food was served.
The dreams also span a variety of genres: romance (a woman in white a la DDLJ running through a sunflower field, watched by her partner); action (two warring clans, one of which wants peace and sends doves, while the other wants to fight so sends back the doves after killing them); horror (mutating faces and babies that turn into knives); comedy (scooters that ‘shoot’ Gems out of their exhaust!), etc. Sometimes they are ludicrous, sometimes they are grounded in reality. Recently, given my work, the dreams also come with some social messaging around women’s rights, right to sexual pleasure and so on. Even my dreams are politically correct.
If I collate the dreams I have and the detail they have in them, I have enough material to fill out small details in novels that I have yet to write, although I think I’m more of a short story writer than a novel writer. I have often thought about writing down my dreams, to use them as inspiration, or simply to offer me a chuckle when I’m low, to know what my mind is capable of when it’s asleep.
Also, I enjoy my dreams and often know when I’m smiling through them. When my mind realises these are dreams and not reality, I have a wonderful few seconds of awkward clarity during which I can will one part of my mind to continue dreaming as if it hasn’t realised that the other part knows it’s a dream and is observing it. A Google search told me that some researchers in a UK university studied this and found that those who are aware they’re dreaming are better at problem-solving when they are awake. Now, I haven’t observed any superior cognitive decision-making skills within me, but since my mind is overactive during my sleep, I hope I’m unconsciously reaping the benefits.
There are many times I’ve wondered that having been blessed with the rich power of storytelling through dreams, I should consult someone or read a book that explains how to decipher these dreams. After all, my subconscious is jabbering on and my conscious is able to register some of this yakking! I have not taken any concrete steps in this regard, though. Much of this is because of sheer laziness, but there’s also a significant aspect of not reducing the amount of fun that I have when I dream by making it a chore. For now, I revel in their absurdity by telling a chosen few about the dream, and watching their reactions: sometimes they laugh, sometimes they look amused, but often there’s a sense of concern that not only do I dream these bizarre stories, I also remember them vividly.
In the few days since writing this piece, I’ve dreamt about a large ship, giant hookahs and many colourful birds bursting away to freedom from a cage. In these few days, I’ve also turned a year older, going strictly by calendar terms. I celebrate the fact that the years haven’t diminished my lucid dreaming abilities, although I have fewer ready listeners to my dreams these days. Perhaps it’s time to pick up a notebook and write them down – and this article’s a fun start!
