I have always had scary dreams. When I was nineteen, I saw a dream in which my mother spanked me for breaking the flower vase. I woke up, screaming. My mother came downstairs and asked, smiling: “Did you dream of being punished by me? Nothing happened. Sleep tight.” I never understood how she could sense it without me saying so. Women often have such sharp intuitions. I had seen the same dream when I was seven years old. It was only then I understood that deep down, I loved it. When I was a child, I often dreamed of rabbits. My mother told me that it is because little children are innocent. I used to dream of snakes too. A girl in college told me that it is because I am horny. I am not sure I agree to it, because those dreams were really scary.
While I was growing up, I have had dreams of going to school naked. I used to see myself walking inside the classroom without my trousers. I never understood why a boy whose dress was always neatly pressed, and hair painfully combed had such horrible dreams. I only know that I had them. It is not that I have never had what Steve Sailer called the standard American dream: “Writing the school final exam without ever opening the text books or going to classes.” It is only that such dreams have stopped bothering me.
In last night’s dream, I was arrested for sexual harassment. As far as I remember, I did not do anything of a serious nature. I just stared inappropriately at a girl I saw on the road, and walked away without bowing my knee to a police man who later hunted me down and locked me up in a jail. It is only that I never bow my knee to the ones in power. I was sent to the penitentiary for “thought-crime”! Everything about me went through my mind in the dream in the fraction of a second. I did not know how to handle the arrest. I am now relieved that it was only a dream.
I wonder why I once had a similar dream in which my normal life was destroyed after being caught sleeping with my landlords daughter. She was an Economics student who slept in the room close to that of mine. I used to stare at her cleavage while she sits on the floor to play with her puppy. Her puppy often used to come near my bed and climb up my blanket to touch my fingers. I used to peep when she prayed. I have always enjoyed watching young girls pray, my atheism notwithstanding. I have also wished that she and her friend knew that I am an Econ nerd. But, sleeping with her had never ever crossed my disciplined, focused mind. The feelings of disbelief and the state of boyish helplessness are still vivid in my mind.
I had seen Mary in my dreams only three times in my whole life. In the first dream, I was holding her in my arms and kissing her forehead. I never understood why I had such a dream because in those days, we barely knew each other. Five years later, I saw her seated near me, in an auditorium. I was tapping my fingers on her arms and staring intensely at a man seated in front of us. In the third dream, I saw me hugging her tightly as if I am glued to her, and saying: “No one has ever heard me out in the way you had done.” It was true. No one else could even feign interest in the things I said, after a point. If there is anything I do not understand yet, it is why she had let me down when I needed her the most. But, in all these years, there was not a single day in which she had asked me to stop talking about the things I want to be said. She would always listen, silently. I would then think of a childhood picture of hers in which she is listening, with her little eyes wide open.