Last night I had a dream about my journalism teacher from way back during post-grad – a sort-of-attractive [if pink teeth and grey gums qualify], hyperactive lunatic who’d tear up our assignments dramatically with predictable regularity and call us [a class of 40 women] ‘kutreya’ [marathi for ‘dogs’] affectionately. For some reason he also had this particularly unattractive habit of lying to us about everything he could lie about from his mother [who he once claimed was a skanky, evil-tempered, penniless Goan fisherwoman] to his house in Goa [which he claimed was an elegant bungalow on a street named after his maternal grandfather] to his still-undetermined sexuality – all of which, strangely enough, gave him this exciting edge in our collective imagination. Which, when given a bit of thought to, is ridiculous because it isn’t often that one expresses in one’s wish list for the Ideal Man a lying, pink-toothed, grey-gummed, vile-tempered mouthy monster.
Anyhow, so in the dream he read my blog, sneered at me and promptly jumped into my cupboard in my nice-clothes section, stuck his thumb in his mouth, curled up amidst my nice clothes and went off to sleep. With his glasses on.
And then, I couldn’t get him out.
While I didn’t really mind it [because my nice clothes aren’t all that terribly nice and my cupboard’s in a perennial mess] it just sort of seemed embarrassing, because all the magazines and newspapers he writes for were looking for him as were thronging hordes of women [ex and present students], and, here’s the frustrating part – I wasn’t allowed to tell them where he was.
I couldn’t quite get a handle on this dream. So I thought I’d offer it up here, for deconstruction[s].
Oh and, don’t ask relevant questions like:
1.) Why did they [newspapers, magazines, students (ex and present)] come to you, if they didn’t know where he was?
2.) How’d he know about your blog? In fact why was he even interested in it?