Despite all distractions, I can't get last night's dream out of my mind.
In the dream, I was running along College Avenue (Orono, Maine), trying to catch up with my friend(s) (not sure which one(s)), who were driving in a car. I'm cheerful, and enjoying the trot, not really desperate to catch up.
College Avenue, running beside the University of Maine campus (where I studied), is a long and calm stretch of road, running beside the aptly-named Stillwater River, in Orono. This was my daily route to and fro to college, from my apartment - a 15- minute walk past the fraternity houses, the bushes and the uniquely shaped Alfond Arena. The short walk on the pavement lined with green grass and dandelions in spring and summer and mounds of dirty snow from the snowplows in winter.
In my dream, I remember it being Freshers' Orientation Week, with a lot of fresh-faced, excited freshmen milling about, and volunteers in UMaine blue handing out flyers and smiling at me as I run past them. I run past them, trying to catch up with the slowly moving car, but I lag farther and farther behind, exhaustion slowing me down. Then, I come across a booth with volunteers handing out UMaine buttons, and I stop, panting and catching my breath. I look inside the booth and I see buttons with the UMaine logo, Bananas the Bear (Our Mascot), and an assortment of rock band buttons, priced at a quarter each.
I rummage through my pockets, only to find them empty. I look at the booth and then again up the street, and the car is gone. I turn back towards the booth and it's gone too, and I'm not in Maine anymore. It's now muggy and I'm soaked in sweat. I'm back in Albacore Drive in Houston, the Pakistani-owned convenience store in the background, my place a couple of houses down the empty street. The streets are all empty, no traffic on the usually-busy road. It's silent - no cicadas even, and the humidity and silence weighs down heavily, like an oppressive and tangible blanket.
I get agitated and I run down the main road, passing the donut shop and the Korean restaurant (I read the sign - Myung Dong, and I smile at the innuendo and run by), passing empty passing lots and silent parks, the only noise being made by my formal loafers slapping against the concrete along the pavement. I keep looking back, hoping to flag down any bus, but they none appear. Eventually, I stop, panting and heaving, sweat pouring down my body.I bend over, hyperventilating, trying to catch my breath, when I hear a bus pull over beside me.
I look up and see a blue-white monstrosity - a clunky BMTC bus, and I'm on the streets of Bangalore. It's noisy, dusty and full of people. And I'm lost. I look around helplessly, trying to figure out where I am, but the people are all blank. Featureless faces, blank boards and nameplates. The buildings all look the same, and I can't make people's conversations out. Everything is drowned out in white noise and I start running again.
And then I wake up.
I suppose it doesn't take a trained psychologist to read into the symbolism of the dreams. And it doesn't take me a lot of introspection or psychoanalysis or Freudian theories to understand what my subconscious is trying to tell me.
I'm missing Maine and Orono in particular a whole lot today. I miss the solitude and silence, the relaxed lifestyle and closeness to nature I felt there. I miss old Bangalore with its greenery and sparse traffic. I don't think I'm a fan of what Bangalore has become - a noisy, overcrowded, dirty concrete jungle with too much chrome, cement and honking.
In the dream, I was running along College Avenue (Orono, Maine), trying to catch up with my friend(s) (not sure which one(s)), who were driving in a car. I'm cheerful, and enjoying the trot, not really desperate to catch up.
College Avenue, running beside the University of Maine campus (where I studied), is a long and calm stretch of road, running beside the aptly-named Stillwater River, in Orono. This was my daily route to and fro to college, from my apartment - a 15- minute walk past the fraternity houses, the bushes and the uniquely shaped Alfond Arena. The short walk on the pavement lined with green grass and dandelions in spring and summer and mounds of dirty snow from the snowplows in winter.
In my dream, I remember it being Freshers' Orientation Week, with a lot of fresh-faced, excited freshmen milling about, and volunteers in UMaine blue handing out flyers and smiling at me as I run past them. I run past them, trying to catch up with the slowly moving car, but I lag farther and farther behind, exhaustion slowing me down. Then, I come across a booth with volunteers handing out UMaine buttons, and I stop, panting and catching my breath. I look inside the booth and I see buttons with the UMaine logo, Bananas the Bear (Our Mascot), and an assortment of rock band buttons, priced at a quarter each.
I rummage through my pockets, only to find them empty. I look at the booth and then again up the street, and the car is gone. I turn back towards the booth and it's gone too, and I'm not in Maine anymore. It's now muggy and I'm soaked in sweat. I'm back in Albacore Drive in Houston, the Pakistani-owned convenience store in the background, my place a couple of houses down the empty street. The streets are all empty, no traffic on the usually-busy road. It's silent - no cicadas even, and the humidity and silence weighs down heavily, like an oppressive and tangible blanket.
I get agitated and I run down the main road, passing the donut shop and the Korean restaurant (I read the sign - Myung Dong, and I smile at the innuendo and run by), passing empty passing lots and silent parks, the only noise being made by my formal loafers slapping against the concrete along the pavement. I keep looking back, hoping to flag down any bus, but they none appear. Eventually, I stop, panting and heaving, sweat pouring down my body.I bend over, hyperventilating, trying to catch my breath, when I hear a bus pull over beside me.
I look up and see a blue-white monstrosity - a clunky BMTC bus, and I'm on the streets of Bangalore. It's noisy, dusty and full of people. And I'm lost. I look around helplessly, trying to figure out where I am, but the people are all blank. Featureless faces, blank boards and nameplates. The buildings all look the same, and I can't make people's conversations out. Everything is drowned out in white noise and I start running again.
And then I wake up.
I suppose it doesn't take a trained psychologist to read into the symbolism of the dreams. And it doesn't take me a lot of introspection or psychoanalysis or Freudian theories to understand what my subconscious is trying to tell me.
I'm missing Maine and Orono in particular a whole lot today. I miss the solitude and silence, the relaxed lifestyle and closeness to nature I felt there. I miss old Bangalore with its greenery and sparse traffic. I don't think I'm a fan of what Bangalore has become - a noisy, overcrowded, dirty concrete jungle with too much chrome, cement and honking.
No comments:
Post a Comment