Dream Lover

Dream Lover
23rd June 2001

No, I’m not talking about the girl of my dreams in this article. That will come later. Or may not be required at all – I’m looking for a babe who’s single, cute, eligible and looking for a guy like me.

I’d define a dream as a subconscious thought or series of thoughts. That secretly communicate with our subconscious minds to influence our behaviours and personalities.

This secret communication probably explains why I’m such a brilliant and imaginative communicator.

I have always had amazing dreams. Amazing, not necessarily in the good sense of the world. I guess weird would be a better way to put it. The worst part about them is that they almost always come true – well, at least the more sensible ones.

I have dreamt about my SSC results – one dream that said 79% and another saying 87%. Naturally, being the superior intellect that I am, my marks were the latter. I have also dreamt about things like tipping a waiter at the Taj and Michael Schumacher dying in a car crash. Being a fan of the German driver, I desperately hope that this last does not come true.

They call it ESP – Extra-Sensory Perception. Déjà vu is another term in vogue today. I’m not going to define them – who the hell do you think I am, the Oxford University Press? The truth is out there – in dictionaries and television serials like The X-Files and The Extraordinary.

That fact is that I am an involuntary Nostradamus. I do not want to dream the future – unless it reveals to me the woman of my dreams (literally), or the exam paper I have to solve the next day.
It’s quite strange that, given my tendency to predict the future with startling accuracy, I have never met the girl of my dreams in my dreams. I’ve had plenty of erotic dreams – however, I have never seen the face of the person with whom I am sharing immense pleasure.

That reminds me – ladies, these dreams have revealed to me that I am, or will be, an amazing lover. Call 91-20-6835604 for a good time.

It may be possible that I will never dream up the woman I’m going to marry. It’s probably because I don’t have a particular type of woman in my mind. That could explain the diversity in the proliferation of objects of the female sex in my life. I have four women I can get hitched to – the best friend (remember the marriage pact?), the college sweetheart, the babe and Legs. Each of who differs in bodily and other characteristics. The only thing that they have in common is that they all seem to like me in some way or the other. I’m beginning to realise that people other than my immediate family – who have no choice in this matter – do love me a lot.

Anyways, I’m digressing. Let’s get back to the products – ravings? – of my diseased subconscious.
I’ve had the normal dreams too. Flying naked in the air, with the whole world oblivious to you.

Jumping off a burning building. Eating chocolate sitting in a bathtub. Et cetera, et cetera.
And then I’ve had the dreams that belong to the other end of the spectrum. Weirdest of the weird. Being chased down by a pack of wolves when with my college friends. Sacrificing my life saving the girls from a burning building. The faces of my friends – morphing, like the result of spectacular animation techniques.

Being of a Mathematics background, I do not possess the necessary knowledge to perform a Freudian analysis of these dreams. I admit to being crazy. I’m the product of two half-mad parents. However, that’s no reason to dream what I do.

Also, I don’t suffer from insanity. I enjoy every moment of it.

There is, though, one dream I hope comes true. According to my latest, my sweetheart will stand second in her University exams. I myself will stand seventh.

I have a feeling that these things will happen. What do you say – second and seventh from the bottom don’t sound too bad, do they?

End Of An Era

End of an Era
5th June 2001

On the 30th of May 2001, I stepped out of my examination center for the last time. The end of my Third Year Bachelor of Science examinations heralded the end of an amazing phase of my life – and the beginning of a new one, as yet undefined.

Jai Hind College has been good to me. The person who entered that institution sometime in June 1996 was not anything like the person who is sitting and writing this article today. Shy, timid, diffident and worldly unwise, my first two years in Jai Hind College were spent in blissful hibernation.

It was after the HSC exams that my previously dormant personality began to shrug its sleepy shoulders, awakening, like the morning sun. Actually, it was more like an insect crawling out of the woodwork. Given an opportunity to showcase my talents, I never looked back.

The academic side of my nature remained in force. Backed up by my laidback, easy-going side that emerged. With a dry sense of humour that degrades with time. Gone is the shyness that has seemed to dog my footsteps since the moment I could walk.

And while I have done a lot of things in Jai Hind College, a few of my crazier antics stand out in sculpted bas-relief glory.

I won’t forget the first time I sat down in the Auditorium. The occasion was my interview for admission to the FYJC class. Mera number aa gaya. Facing Principal N. W. Shivdasani and some senior professors. Asked if I could speak the Sindhi language, I responded that I could understand it better. Then, asked to tell the board who lived in my house, I goofed and told the Principal that my sister, my grandmother and his parents lived in my house.

I have no idea why he granted me admission that day. A Sindhi student unable to express himself in his mother tongue, in a Sindhi college, deserves to be shot.

Then there were the shenanigans in Prof. Sawant’s Foundation Course lectures. Three of us stroll into the lecture 20 minutes late in t-shirts and ridiculous boxer shorts pulled up to the waist Raj Kapoor style, claiming to have arrived from badminton practice. Sat for ten minutes as the class giggled away, and then took off, ostensibly for football practice. And then there was the time the Professor looked up at me just as I caught hold of a girl’s hands to stop her from hitting me.

And then there were the antics at Malhar 2000. Participating for the first and last time, I was sent in for the Mr. Malhar event, simply because I had asked what it was all about. I remember forgetting a rap song and standing in front of Anu Malik cursing viciously. The sweet guy let me read it and continue, and I aced it. Then there was the ridiculous English quawwali. And the Hawaiian dance to rock n’ roll. For which I have been recognised all around the city. I stood second overall.

Brouhaha 2000. Where a close galpal whom I’ll call Legs and I won the Brouhaha Brace, the couple event for the Mr. and Miss Brouhaha titles. Spoofing Titanic, with a heavily censored kissing scene. Making absolute fools out of ourselves, and unexpectedly (to us) winning the title.

Jai Hind College is where my abilities as a writer have developed and come to the fore, leading to my admission into SIMC and the birth of this column. It’s where I have fallen headlong into love, for the first and, so far, the last time. I have also fallen out of love – so girls, if you are looking for a guy who is single and eligible, send me a mail.

I’m gonna miss JHC. It’s been a great alma mater, and I still wear the College t-shirt with pride. I do have a lot to look forward to, however. Life in Pune will be difficult – living in a 3 BHK duplex apartment all alone will be a challenge. And, for the first time in my life, I’ve enrolled in a course which I will truly enjoy.

And then, of course, there is the babe. I’m living alone, with three bedrooms, bathrooms and balconies and terraces. Plenty of space for us to try out new ideas.

You see, we have decided that we want to update the Kama Sutra.