Tag Archives: Dreams


Pursuit – An irony when you are ahead, a dream when you are after, but all the while  it is symbolic to something which  is on going, but not yet finished. It is the very idea of action that adds drama to this benign thought.
The intensity of pursuit can be felt from the heart beats of a antelope closely chased by its predator, each thumb is the echo of the life ending down or sheer luck that make it live another day. Watching closely the food and the hunter – each stride, each blink of eye, the fear of the end, the moment of life or the death..

Dreams Again

How often we dream in such a way that, it feels so realistic. I am not talking about ‘The Matrix’. I am just throwing a basic question. The scientific world has never explained the phenomenon of ‘Dreams’ with clarity, so the occurrence of ‘dreams’ still remain as a masked mystery.

I had a dream yesterday, as if with every million people who dream. But, I count myself among a few blessed ones. Why? Because, I can remember my dreams, very clearly and vividly for almost 5-6 hours after I am awake. So, I jumped on to my blogging write pad so that I can transfer those dreamy memories, before they gets washed off.

Into the dream…

I am standing in front a old school building. A school in the same format as you would see in any typical Indian panorama. Brown soiled grounds, a single tree in the courtyard, and a flag post right in front of the building entrance. The wind was briskly knocking me  and the surroundings seems to be deserted. I am in front of a school that appears not inhabited by any students in recent past. In a deserted place, in front a deserted school, all alone..creepy.

I walked through the doorways with a cloudy mindset. I was not sure, what I will walk into, or what I am going to see in there. I just moved along. I saw three classrooms in the hall. The partitions separating the class rooms are moved to the corner of the hall. In the first black board, I saw some questions written in chalk,almost fading. Spaces were left between the questions, may be for answers. Somehow, I felt to answer the questions. Or the questions were meant for me to answer? I went through those questions that were fading from the board and right now,also from my memory. 3 questions, and were  indeed, quite a mouthful.

1. When did you help a stranger for the last time?

2. Have you fed any hungry stomach which is incapable of getting food of their own?

3. If you read first two questions, aren’t you lucky that you are able to read it and think about it?

I am point blank reading this. I am not imagining things, or making up all these. These are the exact questions, I saw in the dream. And as you have guessed, in the dream and in  life, I was mouth shut. I stared at the board looking for answers. But the answers written by some kid long time ago, has already faded off. And those questions stood there, staring at me.

I guided my eyes to the second classroom and walked towards it.To my surprise, the classroom resembled a temporary hospital setup. The benches are put together and a old woman is lying on it. I slowly went near her. She was motionless. I kneeled down and took a closer look. She suddenly grabbed me and uttered just two words – “Help me”.

I didn’t see her face. I don’t know who she is. She said those words and then again retained her initial posture. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to do. I wished to ask, what help she needed? But I was voiceless. I felt like the surroundings and the wordings were knitting a strangeness around me. A strange ignorance wrapped in all the false knowledge, I am strived to learn. Maybe, this is the reality I was supposed to realise.

Does stories are born in dreams?

I had ,and I specifically say had, the habit of reading. There we re days, when I couldn’t sleep without reading something new. Reading always carried me away and I enjoyed that loneliness.

When fictions and thrillers fill my mindspace, I often wonder, how these stories take birth? How the seed of these awesome scribes originate? Do the authors create all these with there imaginations swirling in the clouds or it just happens in their dreams.

I am a lone dreamer. Often, I dream during early morning. The dreams of mine are mostly adventuress or suspense thriller. you would be thinking that I am kidding. But its a fact in my case. I have often dreamt a full swing story that imparts me as a character. And to my own surprise, when I wake up, I often remember, the entire sequence. I always wished to write it down, but writing the whole thing is much difficult as  visualizing it.

But, someday, i am gonna write it. Who could say, it may be my masterpiece in literature?

A winter memory

Misty mornings, cold days, chilly evenings and the frosty night. This is my sweetest dream of a windy day. As of now, it is not possible in Trivandrum, my home city because of the famous maritime climate, I always wish to wake to that beautiful dreamy winter morning. I believe that when wishes remain as dreams for long, it starts getting sweeter and sweeter. And for my snowy winter morning, its is the sweetest dream of mine now.

I have never experienced snow fall in my life time yet. The mesmerising white blanket is too adorable for me. I wish to play in that freaky soft white sand of frozen water. In my childhood days, I have experienced a hail stone night. It was a party day in the army camp, where I used to live with my father. There was no sign of rain in the evening. But all of a sudden, by around 8 in the night, I felt like stones were falling from the sky. Soon, all found out that it was big pieces of ice that was falling. Though that was not so good experience to boost about, it was and is only my frozen experience with nature.

Books I want to write

I have been a busy blogger, always finding something to blah about. But, i always dreamt to be a serious writer for once in a life time. That is when, I wish to write my own biography.

I am not a famous personal. I am just a living being in this planet earth with some space in brain to think,understand and spit our thoughts. That is what I have  and doing in my ‘Pieces of my thoughts’. My ambition as a writer is to scribble down the memories from the beginning of my life to almost the end. A saga of life. I don’t know how it is with others, but for me, I have a very vivid memory of my childhood right from very early age. When I try to remember the old fading pictures from my memory, all comes in their order with more and more clarity. I always enjoyed reading. What could be of more pleasure than jotting down my own life and reading it at a later point. I feel it really thrilling. What the fellows of ‘Bloggerville’ think about it? Let me know !!!!.


It wasn’t so good. I woke up from a half broken sleep. I was still away from my destination, still trying to cope up with the fact that I am on the narrow edge of my life.
Life – Is it too complicated as it seems to be or just like a portrait of which I am the artist. The colours and lines that just blend with the pictures that rise around me in each day of my life. Sometimes, it has been good, sometimes quite a wreck, but had it been disappointing. Why? Because I am the artist of my life.

There was a time –  I couldn’t use my legs to take me to where I wanted to. I could not use my hands to grab the things. I stared at my mother, my eyes gleaming at her, to teach me. I screemed with my untrained tongue, as loud as I could, to teach me to epress my thoughts. To teach me to walk out and look at the open window, out of which I have imagined quite a lot of shadows and colours. I wanted to grab my father’s hand, when he was busy counting. I didnt know what he was doing at that time, since my fresh brain didn’t have any acquaintance with Currency bills. I used to sit with my hands crossed and my face in between , gasping at him, counting, recounting , sitting there for long, concentrating.
The past seems to be a shadow. A fainter shadow, that still, call out to me to etch it down.
Told stories of my past are often fascinating for me. When Mother says, you did this, did that, I often go back in my shadows of memories, trying to gasp those stories.
I don’t remember when I started to walk this earth. No one told me yet. But I have a lot of told stories, of what I did, when I started to use my legs.

Oh, for three more hours

Who would not cherished an extra moment in life? An extra second, just before splitting from your sweetheart’s lips, a minute extra just before the bus leaves, an hour before the movie begins, a day more after you remember that today is the anniversary and you forgot the present. Wishes goes on.

When this strike my mind, I though what if Someone, none other than God( Who else could make such lucrative offers) gives an extra 3 hours right now to me? Or to you? What would you do?

Well, I accepted the offer for time being. Let me plan. I was early from office today. I mean 1 hour early.There were guests at home, and I couldn’t resist switching off my laptop and biking to home, after my wife’s phone call. It’s just third week after marriage and resistance to say no, is impossible. Atleast for me. There goes another 90 minutes of my valuable time, chit chatting and then I logged on to my PC to visualize the Almighty’s offer.

I am tired, hungry, and more over sleepy. I know. God is never so kind enough to provide it with enough “TIME” (Again, huh ), to [plan for the gift’s usage. All I could think now, is to have some food , go to sweet bed and go for a dreamless night.

And 3 extra hours, well, in life, more than just 3 hours have gone wasted, which could have made drastic changes in life. Just for an example, wasted time in school, college, lazy hours. So, let me at least make some health now, right? Sleep extra just for the day.