Everybody has nightmares.
Some have them when they are asleep.
Some have them when they are awake.
Some live them.
Nightmares – reminds me of mares.
It reminds me of a whole lot of mares running wild at night.
I have nightmares all the time.
I remember very few.
Among all those I can vaguely remember here are some which managed to scare the living hell out of me.
I do not have any delusions of things I can do.
Well, maybe I do but I do know that I can not run fast.
I can run – but I can not run fast.
One of my friends once told me his grand mother could beat me at a running race – I still wonder about that.
This being the state of my running, running downhill would not make much of a difference – I would still be slow.
In my nightmare I am always running extra slow (if that is possible) – downhill – with a boulder in pursuit.
The funny bit is I never ever make it. The mountain seems to go on forever and finally the boulder does run me over.
The nightmare, unfortunately, does not end there.
I, then enjoy a third person view (considering the boulder to be the second person).
I see myself flattened, alive and smiling a flat smile – pretty much like how Tom keeps ending up looking like thanks to Jerry.
It is not a pretty sight.
Not for anyone – least of all me.
Another one that still makes me squirm was not exactly a nightmare.
It was more a distorted dream.
The distorted bit of the dream being ‘exceedingly optimistic’ me.
Do not misunderstand me, I am not a pessimist but nor am I an optimist.
I am strictly in between.
I am pessimistic about pessimism but not optimistic about optimism.
In this dream my hands are being chopped off – but I am very optimistic about it.
I keep telling myself I still have two legs.
And then my legs are chopped off.
I keep telling myself I am still alive.
Then my head is chopped off.
And I am still smiling.
Writing examinations without preparing for them and realizing I am naked all of a sudden in a public place never really scared me much – I wonder why.
And the only person who is hurt or killed in my nightmares is I – so there was never a question about me fearing the death of a dear one.
The fact that I am the one dying somehow calms me – Is that normal?
Now for the worst of all nightmares – I had this one quite recently.
I am sitting at this huge table and there is this very homely, plump, cute little lady standing by my side.
I have a humongous plate in front of me.
This wonderful lady keeps filling my plate.
And I keep on eating, eating and eating.
The nightmare bit is – I have no sense of taste!
Wonderful, delicious, taunting food all tasting like lumps of... nothing.
It was awfully, dreadfully, horrifyingly, terribly horrible.
It is only when you have nightmares you understand how worse life could get.
I am glad I am not yet flattened by a boulder even though I am a slow runner.
I am glad I am not optimistic enough to smile when I am being decapitated.
And I am oh so glad that I can still taste what I eat even though there isn't much to taste.