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A dream

Posted by Avadhut on 28 October 2007

For my own part, I have never had a thought which I could not set down in words with even more distinctness than that with which I conceived it. There is, however, a class of fancies of exquisite delicacy which are not thoughts, and to which as yet I have found it absolutely impossible to adapt to language. These fancies arise in the soul, alas how rarely. Only at epochs of most intense tranquillity, when the bodily and mental health are in perfection. And at those weird points of time, the confines of the waking world blend with the world of dreams. And so I captured this fancy, where all that we see, or seem, is but a dream within a dream.

-A dream within a dream, Alan Parsons Project.

“You’re eating mud again!” she cried. He shook his head fiercely. But he could not open his mouth to deny the charge, because his teeth were stained brown. She lay hold of his little arm and pulled him roughly to her. There were a lot of complaints, lately, about him the small gypsy village by the river—that he stole, and that he was rude, and the women were always telling her how wicked her boy was. She would always defend him, saying that every little boy in the crescent-shaped settlement was upto similar mischief. But she had misgivings now that she saw him eating mud again.

He could scarcely help being himself, could he? Like an ancient urge, his curse of being different burned inside him. And only the dark mud, the pure brown clods, cooled that terrible fever. So he ate the sweet-smelling stuff. Greedily. As if, if given a chance, he would devour the whole planet.

“Don’t you know it’ll upset your stomach? You could die eating mud,” she trilled, pulling him half angrily, though always lovingly, on to her lap.

She then inveigled a slender finger into his mouthm and then another, to try to to get him to open it. But he clamped his teeth down gently on her fingertips. Soon, with both of them giggling, the whole thing turned into a game, and she tried to use her other hand to unlock him at the cheeks. With a squeal, he cried, “So you must see it, mother? Then look!”


12 Responses to “A dream”

  1. Ergo said

    Awwww….. CHOOO CUUUUTE!!!

  2. seemajoshi said

    Avadhut: Did this happen to u???
    Knowing how much u like to play in the mud (Remember the chikhal panchamis we played in my backyard?) , this cud have easily happend to u…..

  3. Avadhut said

    WHAT? I don’t believe you just said that. All of us—yes, all of us—were having a ball of a time playing in the mud/sludge. You included! These people already think that mudpies are a national dish from where I come. Don’t you add fuel to the fire. Grr…

  4. Charl said

    Cute, but ick.

    It’s the all you. The way you subject us to unwanted glimpses of masticated food.

  5. Charl said

    Cute, but ick.

    It’s all you. The way you subject us to unwanted glimpses of masticated food.

  6. Charl said

    Chee. Delete previous comment. Delete this one also. Sorry to hog your comment space.

    PS: I’m deliriously happy to see the blog in action! 😀

  7. Pink Imp said

    “……….These people already think that mudpies are a national dish from where I come. Don’t you add fuel to the fire. Grr…”

    HAHAHH!! yes! i so totally know now that you actually play mudpie-mudpie..needless to say: amhi mudpie-mudpie kheluya?

    i have an uncanny feeling: this post is autobiographical. 😉

    btw, when it finally dawns on you that i exist, deign to come online on gtalk x-(

  8. Avadhut said

    Grrr…It is not autobiographical! I am going to kill Seema.

    Why can’t you all just read it like J and leave something like “So cute” instead of reading into it and trying to analyze if the small kid was me!!!

  9. Ergo said

    Yay! I got brownie points from Avs!! 🙂

  10. seemajoshi said

    Pink: What I wrote is the truth…
    Avadhut: ENJOYED???? Did we have a choice with u pouring all that mud/sludge over our heads to celebrate “RANGA” panchami…
    Dont u talk abt killing me… Its what u are! 🙂

  11. anvita said

    i guess its only autobiographical if u r krishn. right?

  12. Avadhut said

    He never ate mud, did he? It was always curd for him, no?

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