I sleep terribly and remember a lot of my dreams these days. According to my sage-like brother, insomnia passes like the seasons, it comes and it goes and there isn't much to do about it than enjoy it. An acquaintance recently made a film about the writer's insomnia, as I expect he might have experienced it, since he recently also published a book (making him a legit writer unlike some people, say, yours truly). I guess sleep suffers when you cant (or dont want to) switch your brain off.
Goddamnit! had promised myself, never to use parantheses!
Anyway, in between dreams, strange things happen and most of the time, I wake up totally incapable of drawing the line between what actually happened and what was only a dream. In last night's case, it went like this:
I'm looking down at my bank balance on the white slip from the ATM.
Available Balance: $147.50.
I'm hungry. Hungry as frick.
Ha! I think, what the hell, you're here today, gone tomorrow. Live like its your last day.
I head to a five star place, with a creepy, yellow toothed concierge who looks like the general manager at my yoga place.
There's tandoori chicken and raita and butter naan and I polish it off like I've been eating nothing but okra and arrowroot for the last 15 years.
Then I flash my NUS Alumni VISA at concierge who in turn, flashes yellow teeth at me.
Bill says $164.70. I am screwed.
I don't have all of the money, I say. I'll pay you the $20 later. Please. Please. Please.
Conceirge looks amused. I'll just add it to your tab, he says and pulls out a rolled up bill which hits the floor when unfurled.
$944.60. I owe them close to a grand.
Okay, later, on the 18th, I promise. He nods and lets me go.
Thank you, thank you thank you and I break into a run.
I woke up sick with worry, wondering what I was going to do for food and bus fare till the 18th. I didn't realize it was a dream till I was standing at the ATM this morning.
Now if this were a Madhur Bhandarkar Film, the story would be set in Mumbai, the protagonist would be a poor, pretty girl - daughter of a construction worker or something, who'd have come into some money through a game of cards, the largest sum she'd ever had. A lifetime of persistent hunger and ignorance would make her overeat at the Taj and she'd have to sleep with the concierge to pay off the $20. Thus her foray into the world of prostitution. The rest of the film would be an expose, of course.
SVK, of course, had a cleaner reinterpretation, very much a la Srinivasan- aam aadmi from Kerala - the only other person in the world, apart from myself, who can make my father laugh.
Goddamnit! had promised myself, never to use parantheses!
Anyway, in between dreams, strange things happen and most of the time, I wake up totally incapable of drawing the line between what actually happened and what was only a dream. In last night's case, it went like this:
I'm looking down at my bank balance on the white slip from the ATM.
Available Balance: $147.50.
I'm hungry. Hungry as frick.
Ha! I think, what the hell, you're here today, gone tomorrow. Live like its your last day.
I head to a five star place, with a creepy, yellow toothed concierge who looks like the general manager at my yoga place.
There's tandoori chicken and raita and butter naan and I polish it off like I've been eating nothing but okra and arrowroot for the last 15 years.
Then I flash my NUS Alumni VISA at concierge who in turn, flashes yellow teeth at me.
Bill says $164.70. I am screwed.
I don't have all of the money, I say. I'll pay you the $20 later. Please. Please. Please.
Conceirge looks amused. I'll just add it to your tab, he says and pulls out a rolled up bill which hits the floor when unfurled.
$944.60. I owe them close to a grand.
Okay, later, on the 18th, I promise. He nods and lets me go.
Thank you, thank you thank you and I break into a run.
I woke up sick with worry, wondering what I was going to do for food and bus fare till the 18th. I didn't realize it was a dream till I was standing at the ATM this morning.
Now if this were a Madhur Bhandarkar Film, the story would be set in Mumbai, the protagonist would be a poor, pretty girl - daughter of a construction worker or something, who'd have come into some money through a game of cards, the largest sum she'd ever had. A lifetime of persistent hunger and ignorance would make her overeat at the Taj and she'd have to sleep with the concierge to pay off the $20. Thus her foray into the world of prostitution. The rest of the film would be an expose, of course.
SVK, of course, had a cleaner reinterpretation, very much a la Srinivasan- aam aadmi from Kerala - the only other person in the world, apart from myself, who can make my father laugh.
This guy... poor guy... maybe a rickshaw driver
His biggest dream in having a meal in a 5 star restaurant
Oh wait!
He's with his friends
The End.
He's with his friends
and they, 'chalo yaar taj mein khaate hain'
and so everyone's like, 'chalo chalo ... at least chai to peete hain'
and then they go for it... only to realize that a chai costs a few 100 rupees... and they have only a 100 each
So from then on, all rickshaw-walla wants, is to have a full meal at the Taj. It becomes his veri, his vaashi, his personal Mt. Everest.
He works and works and works to save up for that
And the big day comes and he does go and have a meal there
In crisp new clothes and all
After footing a bill of of a few thousand rupees... probably his savings of a year
The End.
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