Thursday, November 09, 2006


This is what you call a desperate post. A post to tell the world (mostly consisting of myself) that, I can still write something. I can still put together a string of words. So what if does not make any sense. Most of Phillip K Dick's books didn't make any sense when they were read for the first time. Some still doesn't. Maybe someday my blog would be discovered by aliens who could decode the ciphered messages and figure out what I really wanted to say.

I see an impossibly high over bridge in my dreams. The one near the station surrounded by hills from all sides. The station in which the little blue locomotive stops. The locomotive which carried me and her to that far away land. She looks East Asian in the early morning haze, but I can't make out her eye color. Don't have a fucking clue what I am doing with her in this weird place, but somehow my steps follow hers on the over bridge. Iron railings on one side and sheer drop on the other. A shining thread which has to be a river visible through the gaps in the rusted iron on the steps.

Is this somewhere in the Andes, I wonder while concentrating hard on my next step. I must have dreamt this locale up based on the "Prisoners of the Sun". But the drop seems real enough. So does the sound made by our boots on the steps. And the knowledge gleaned through reading countless fantasy novels does not help either; a death in your dream is the end of your life in reality.

Why are we wearing stupid business suits instead of life jackets and parachutes? Why is she going on endlessly about "the boy" instead of focusing on the simple task of staying alive? Who the hell is "the boy" anyway? "You don't know how drunk I had to get him to kiss me", she says. Huh? We are crossing an impossible over bridge which shows no sign of ending, so that she can kiss this boy? Am I somehow trapped in Bridget Jones' diary? The steps become more rusted, sometimes disappearing almost completely. I discover I have been clutching a hunting knife tightly all this while. A knife with names engraved on the hilt, so old that it can't be read anymore.

I was so engrossed in negotiating the next gap in the steps that I almost bump into her when she stops suddenly. Strange ! She seems to be wearing some body armor under the black business suit. Am I doing the same? No time for checking out now, as my eye falls on what made her stop. The steps have given away to a sort of landing here. And standing at the edge of the landing, humming the tune of "Smoke on the Water" quite nonchalantly, stands the Keeper. His dressing is heavily inspired by gangster flicks, right up to the grey fedora shadowing his eyes. The fact that he only has one metal leg, does not seem to dampen the menace dripping off him in any way. Not with that number of guns stuck on his leather belt. The smile playing on the corner of his mouth is a surprise, though. And so is the cry of delight which emanates from my guide.

The fedora tilts itself somehow. Revealing a face which might have passed off as Alec Baldwin, apart from the camera like devices where you would expect eyes to be. The devices which flash pictures of sandy beaches, grassy plains, misty meadows and a faintly remembered river in quick succession. "Hi Keeper", I hear myself say. Eh? How do I know this creature straight out of a video game? My fingers surprise me further by bunching into a strange two fingered salute. "You're home", she murmurs somewhere near my ear. Another locomotive seems to be steaming into the station far below us. The sound of the train drowns what Keeper is saying. I can barely make out the word "Goodbye". The buzzing pain inside my head, makes my steps falter a little. And suddenly I am flying.

My eyes open and stare listlessly at the cream colored wall. The pain in the loss of the life I left behind in my path for everlasting glory is still fresh in my mind. But I know its not gonna last. Already Keeper’s face is blurring in my memory. I turn around and look into my son’s face. Does he know what he has signed up for? The sleeping face does not tell me much. I start wondering how I woke up with a headache.
Silly dreams !!


Dipta Chaudhuri said...

Bloody hell... you have again started off on your surreal posts!

I never understand all these 170+ IQ thingies.

Pls get down to the vagaries of Bombay, the problems of Indian cricket and other such mundane stuff!

trishnachaudhuri said...

This one went way over my head..sorry....

J. Alfred Prufrock said...

Besh besh. Enjoyed this.


Aneesh said... long ago did you read Neuromancer? I was expecting Molly to pop out of the business suit and swing into action...mirror shades flashing in the soft light!