Bench | Under the canopy of stars
He read himself. His chest was bare. He was wearing blue pajamas, his night clothes. So, maybe it was a dream after all, he said to himself.
He was also baffled. It had occurred to him that he should be. Baffled. That is why he was. Baffled.
He could sense that something was missing from the world. And not because something had been extracted from it. If anything, something more had been added to his reality, to the fabric of his world… a new layer, as if the world had donned a new dress. Like a man wears makeup and colorful clothes before turning himself into an entirely new being: a so-called joker.
In truth, his clerical mind was still trying to convince itself that he was not in a dream. It did not want to be frightened. Dreams are often frightening.
He tried to remember where he was before. Nothing specific came to his mind. It was all foggy, and smudged around the edges… like the sun seen through an x-ray plate. There was an unknown dark lake between his last memory of having dinner at his home with Padma and the present course of events, in which an unknown woman was sitting in front of him.
He read himself. His chest was bare. He was wearing blue pajamas, his night clothes. So, maybe it was a dream after all, he said to himself.
Swapna had hazel eyes, slightly on the darker side. Her face was angular, with lips that were prominent, without lipstick. Clearly, she was not one of those soap opera wives who are properly decked up even when they go to sleep. Her hair was short, not boy-short but not really reaching her shoulders either.
Also, she was wearing the same clothes she used to change into before going to bed: only a blue salwar kameez… salwar kameez, no undergarments.
When it occurred to her that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and she was alone with a stranger in an unknown place, even if it was just a dream, she could not stop herself from blushing. And immediately regretted that she had done so.
She remembered having removed her bra before going to sleep. It was lying by her side on the bed, if hopefully, she was still in her house in the real dream-less world, if she had not already died, if her body had not already begun to rot in the earthly world and it was her soul which was talking to itself.
“I am Swapna, and you?” she asked. She decided to play it cool. “Wow, it’s a cool word: COOL. See O O El.”
It was also possible that it wasn’t a dream. Maybe they were in an alternate reality. And the man was a real man with real impulses who could bring real harm to her. That is why she had to be careful. He had nothing over his chest, and even though he didn’t look dangerous, one had to be careful. If the world is strange, then dreams have to be at least that much stranger.
But, if she was hallucinating, she had nothing to worry about. Hallucinations are just markers of our madness; and there is nothing wrong in being mad. Everyone is.
“I am Parnab. Listen, are you sure we are dreaming?” the man in front of her said. His face had taken the form of a big question, a funny question mark with sunken cheeks. He looked like a ghost who is afraid of the living… and for a moment she felt like laughing.
She didn’t.
She replied: “I am not sure. Something which I can only term as instinct tells me that it is a dream. Also, I am wearing the same clothes which I usually go to sleep in.”
It was something she didn’t want to put into words. She didn’t want his attention to shift towards her clothes. She feared that he might end up visualizing her braless breasts under the hanging lights. Braless breasts… Why am I using such words? — She tried to hold herself… her tongue.
Also, it felt kind of illogical. The argument she gave in favor of her ‘yes-dream’ theory. We almost never find ourselves in our dreams wearing the same clothes in which we sleep.
“Hmm…” He said. She wasn’t wearing a bra, it was clear. The protuberance of the bra-strap was nowhere visible, and the contours were smooth. In fact, her breasts were bigger than his wife’s, her perky nipples pointing out like Himalayas… nothing was holding them, he was sure. “Have we met before?” he asked after a prolonged silence.
She was sitting on the bench.
He was standing in front of her and his feet were unshod. And there were bits and pieces of grass under them, with little round and pointy pebbles smeared in between. He was a tad uncomfortable, standing for so long. He didn’t want to appear weak in front of the woman. He didn’t want her to know that he was weak. So, he kept on standing.
He discerned something with his naked toes. The little toe of his left piggy felt the coldness of a round circular chip. He was sure that it was a coin. But he still wanted to bend down and pick it up, and check if it really was one.
He had asked her: “Have we met before?”
“Not that I remember,” she replied… and started trying, more intently, to read him.
His complexion was slightly on the darker side, he was tall and thin. His face was angular, long and sort of deflated from both sides. She also observed that the clump of hair on his left chest was a little denser than the one on his right. ‘What a strange thing to observe’, she muttered to herself.
“What are we doing here?” He continued with his questions.
“I don’t know. In fact, that’s what I too want to know.”
“Okay then, what should we do now?”
“Talk, maybe?”
“Okay. Makes sense.”
And then, the gears of their conversation changed… as if the puff of wind, which had just skimmed their faces, had changed their mood. And then for a while, they didn’t speak… as if the words had been frozen by the sudden realization of the change in their mood.
The cool mist of the ongoing night trembled the bits and particles of words in their throats… which were not even their real throats!
Who knows where do words reside before they spring forth into the world of hell!
This is the chapter 2 from the novella “Under the canopy of stars” written by Keta Nachi. It can be purchased from here. For more sample chapters, do check: