It was all fine in the beginning – this get-together of college friends happening after a decade since graduation, at a rather classy looking resort. Conversations flowed, as did the wine and laughter and chatter. Old jokes were thrown around for good measure, legs were pulled (wasn’t that college slang?), surprise sparks flew, children and spouses and work were talked about, and then, flooded by college memories and overpowered by nostalgia, a collective sigh and silence punctuated the uproarious laughter of few, the gentle smiles of some, and the grins of a few others. Hadn’t time flown? Hadn’t they all grown older? Hadn’t they all scattered away from a common past and returned, only to go back to that glorious past yet again, even if for a short while?
Soon, the large group split into smaller groups, rather organically. What was the dominant theme or trait that characterised these groups – was it geographical? Was it that they were actually close friends? Or was it a topic they were talking about? Whatever it was, N finds herself sitting with a bunch of folks that includes her two close friends, some acquaintances and a few others whose faces she vaguely recalls. The only reason she can think of, for this bunch to come together, is that they were sitting at the same table during lunch.
The lazy talk and banter suddenly turns to a rather strange topic – nightmares. “Why oh why? Why are we even getting there?” N thinks to herself. She turns restless and wonders if she should excuse herself, citing some reason (I need to use the washroom, I need to make a call…excuse me!). But then, something holds her down, and she remains there, waiting for the discussion to unfold.
The question – “What has been your biggest nightmare in recent times?”
“My biggest nightmare was discovering that my entire hard-disk was wiped out one fine day,” says one. N can see the bitterness glazing his eyes as he finishes saying it.
“Oh I had one just last week,” says another. “Seeing that the cake I baked for our anniversary had sunk depressingly in the centre was awful!” The woman winks, and then there are supressed giggles and light laughter.
“My worst nightmare that I never want to come true is getting pregnant. Gosh, I can’t take the idea of kids, of being a parent!” her close friend confesses with alarm on her face as if she was already pregnant. N isn’t surprised. She has known this girl for ages! There are nods of understanding and a few tut-tuts, the meaning of which could be either approval or disapproval, she thinks.
“Oh, I….” her other dear friend pauses, fighting tears, “My most awful nightmare has been losing my niece in an accident,” and she breaks down. The whole group goes still, frozen, in pain, and then N puts her hand around this friend who is shaking in grief. The power of empathy, she hopes, will comfort her dear friend. The others join in, too, placing their hands, on that of their grieving classmate.
Then there’s the fellow who thinks he ought to lighten the mood. He clears his throat. “Guess what, guys. My most recent nightmare has been about this meet-up. I was totally clueless what I should be doing here, what I should be talking, when I have forgotten nearly every face that made up for my batch, and what with my introversion making it worse! Phew, did I just say so much? That’s perhaps the longest I have spoken in months!” He grins and there’s a round of laughter, of relief, of hope, that life still goes on despite nightmares. A few of them slap his back and say, “Kya re! We never knew you spoke so much!” N laughs.
The next nightmare confession comes from this guy who’s perpetually had this beach hat on; for what joy, she wonders. “I woke up from this startling nightmare, last week..”, he says and goes on to narrate dramatically, a high-intense chase sequence around a depressingly dark forest by a strange creature that didn’t have a face! Some in the group laugh, some pretend to empathise because they know this guy – they have seen and heard enough through the hostel days!
The rest continue saying things, stuff that nightmares are made of. And as N listens to each of them, she thinks deeply about how a word could take on so many dimensions and interpretations. The writer that she is, she observes keenly as her college mates dissect the word ‘nightmare’ with their varied experiences and interpretations. She remembers how, just a while back, she had wanted to leave this conversation.
A part of her is glad she chose to stay back, to listen in. It has poured ideas aplenty into her pool of writerly inspiration that she could dip into and come up with stories. Another part of her though is still restless and on the edge. She will have to share her nightmare too. It feels painful to even think of uttering those words. “Guys, know what my worst nightmare is? I am living through it right now. I am a writer. Yes, I am. But my words have deserted me. They refuse to return. They refuse to come out on paper. They don’t want to take shape as a story, or a poem or an essay. They have left me feeling incomplete, incompetent, an empty shell. I can’t write anymore. And it’s my worst fear come true.” N is suddenly very anxious, but in some tiny corner of her mind, she hears a voice tell her, “Just speak it out. For all you know, it will unburden you. And then, you will perhaps see light again.” That, she thinks is the voice of hope, and she waits for her turn.
((Pic by Gyan Shahane)