1st May 2010, I woke up at 7.59 am crying... I had one of those dreams which I hate to have about the person I love. Although it was in a very amusing setting (I was India and belonged to one of the remote villages there), it was serious enough to make me cry. We (myself, Mr. P and Confused Gal, the person whom Mr. P fell head over heels for), were back in the village like long lost sons and daughters of the land, whom had left the “nest” in pursuit of a better life in the city and are now back to rejoice with our home people and awaiting a promising answer from Confused Gal to marry Mr. P.
*shakes head in disbelieve*
I just thought to myself, how ridiculous can this dream get!!!
Anyway, the story so goes that Confused Gal had given an answer close enough to a “yes” and so a huge marriage ceremony was in due with the entire village in full swing of somewhat an event close to a fiesta. We were supposedly the pride of the village and the villagers having been successful in our education and our careers in the city, in other words, the crème de la crème of the almost God forsaken village (any Tamil movie from the 80’s would give anyone an overview of this scenario I am trying to get across). I was the bridge between the two of them-Mr. P and Confused Gal-having brought them together after a long bout of uptight silence.
Even in the real world this was indeed true and I am trying to bridge the two, in what seems to me every bit delicate a task as painstaking as pinning embroidery onto a couture gown made of luxurious satin silk. I have also made the fact clear that I will stand by Mr. P, because he is the love of my life to Confused gal and the entire Indian residents of the Hostel D5 (yes, so it is apparent that Confused Gal recently found out that I hopelessly adore the very man she loves and with that being said that I was certainly gay-how that happened is an entirely different episode, and nonetheless filled with odd circumstances).
Reverting to the dream, I departed, leaving the happy couple to their glory and hid myself in a place I knew no one would look for me, while Mr. P was in ecstasy that the girl he wanted had finally agreed to holy matrimony.
Alas, Mr. P suddenly realised that something, or rather, someone was missing...
Talking in happy tones in Tamil...
Villager #1: Apperum inimel vazhkai oh ho ne irekke pothe ungalekke (So, life is going to be all bliss for u now)
Mr. P: Nandri, athe sari ne sonnone enakke manasele appe than ore santhosamum nimmatiyum vanteci... (Thanks, only when she agreed, I heaved a sigh of relieve and felt a sense of content)
Villager #2: Apperum enna, siringe aiya, ninge kai kudunge, mothelle kai kudengge... (So that’s settled then, smile, give me a hand shake, give me a hand shake first.)
*villager reaches for Mr. P’s hand and Mr. P accepts the gesture of well-wishing*
Mr. P (looking around searching for something): Ille ne, ennamo kaana pona matiri ore feeling...*pause and realisation* Hari!!!, Hari yenge??? (No brother, I am feeling like something is missing, Hari!!!, where’s Hari?)
Sensing the troubled expression on their most valued groom-to-be’s face the villagers go all out on a head search for me and finally a lady spots me when I decide to take a peek at the commotion happening outside the small hut from which I decided to conceal myself in. Mr. P and Confused Gal lead by a group of villagers almost hundreds strong stood in front of the hut waiting for my reaction. Wind was blowing so fiercely that the “mundani” (part of the Indian attire called the “saree”, thrown over the left shoulder resembling a dangling shawl) of the dark green saree Confused Gal was wearing was airborne (now imagine that under the 80's lenses.
*I literally laugh out loud after reading the paragraph above* (again, I find the scene so ludicrous)
Confused Gal (with serious conviction): Senior, na ok ne sollale... (Senior, I didn’t agree...)
There’s this tradition in my varsity during my undergraduate years among the Indians, whereby we were told to address our seniors, well, “senior” before their names, to affirm their seniority, naturally Confused Gal was my junior and so she called me Senior Hari (personally, I found it rather revolting that the word was used on me as well). Interestingly enough, she used that very term even in my dream set in a remote village in Southern India.
Myself: Yen ***, yen??? Unakke enna tha perechane??? Avan munje pare!!! Unakke innum tha puriyalaya??? *loud sobs* (Why Confused Gal, why??? What is your bloody problem??? Look at his face!!! *points to Mr. P* Don’t you still get it???
~Dream ends~
I wake up and it all felt so real, tears rolling down into my ears, heavy breathing and the fact that something very vivid had been planted into my subconscious or maybe it was already there... I spent the next 5 minutes crying to allow myself to ease into a calmer state of mind, venting out that intense emotional constrain i have been put through. The truth is I am wishing so wholeheartedly that this two people get together and start they journey into their own lives, leaving me to depart from their existence, getting a closure on my dreadfully meaningful time with Mr. P.
Truth be told, although I have come to terms with myself that I shall live a life of abstinence and spirituality (something that, in the means that I have learnt it from, sees the need for a spouse or sexual contentment redundant when it comes to the journey of finding and discovering God), I am yet to fully leave this episode of my life behind me. Finding love in another has been everything my life has meant to me all these breathing years that it was a paradigm shift in my mindset that finding your Creator was the greatest gift, the most truest and everlasting one, that one can bestow upon one’s self... Yes, finding God is not impossible and He’s with you, within you and forever looking after you.
Discover Him and you discover eternal bliss...
As for this dream, although there was a vast difference in the ‘“sites” and sounds’ (Malaysia and southern India, a university campus and a remote village, university students and villagers, jeans and tees and traditional Indian attire), an event with close resemblance to this has actually happened in my life. Which was probably why I was deeply affected by it, enough to write about it here...
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