‘Ship Floats’

Sometimes I see this weird dream. I see my hotel- Ship transformed into a real ship on a full moon night and setting sail on PD Mellow road. I see all the beds except mine moving neatly in a file, as if obeying an algorithm, and stacking up neatly in one corner of the hall. I see a starboard emerging from the floor on one end of the hall. I see a mast rising from the middle of the hall and a sail climbing the mast simultaneously. My forty four roomies take their positions on this Ship according to their experience and qualification in merchant shipping: navigators to the navigation panel, the junior engineers and the engineers to the engine room, the captain and his commanding officers on the starboard and I to my bed no. 24, which is stationed bang on the middle of the deck near the mast.

This ship called…ahem…Ship soon sets sail and it sails across the government dental college, the GPO and finally reaches the Victoria Terminus where I can see the lady atop the dome in her glorious deposition, faintly covered by the thin sheath lent by the moonlight. My mind registers awe at the sight.

At this stage the dream invariably hits a snag. And every time I have this dream, it proceeds in the same way because my mind has not developed an alternate solution to the snag yet. I hear screams coming from the announcement system, drowning the emergency alarm, ‘All hands on deck, we have hit iceberg: VT.’ And then I lift my eyes to the mysterious lady atop VT and see the light illuminating her turning faint red. Confused, I shift my gaze to the moon, I see it turning into a shade of red too. At this point I panic.

Then I hear the captain’s blaring voice on the announcement system, ‘We have just calculated that in order to save the ship we will have to lessen the load. Get rid of the most dispensable object on board.’ As soon as I hear this I freeze in terror.

I see all sailors on deck heading toward me like zombies, their hands reaching out for me. I try to get off my bed and escape but I soon find that my hand is tied to the bed with a handcuff, and I can’t free myself. The sailors lift me with my bed and chant, ‘Sailor God, Sailor God’ in unison and then with a single united effort, thrust me overboard, entirely on the mercy of the ocean. In my panicky state I try to find a dry oasis in the wet desert surrounding me but without successes. I am strained to think that my bed will soon sink but the luggage compartment underneath it, seemingly keeps it afloat. Aboard Ship I can see faces of confused sailors, who don’t know whether to celebrate their survival or to mourn my state. Ship gradually fades out of site leaving behind a trail of darkness.

I, perched on my floating haven, my bed, my launch pad of dreams, continue to drift dangerously close to iceberg: VT, clutching my folded legs together out of apprehension. In this lull before the onset of trauma I let go of all hope and bury my face between my knees. All of a sudden, I feel a cold a hand grab my right shoulder. The fingers dig insensitively on my shoulder. I turn around slowly in apprehension. As I turn, my eyes catch a faint red glow and I find myself looking straight into the stony red eyes of the lady no longer atop VT.

This is where I usually wake up to reality.