Ever since I began following what is happening in the world, through news channel debates, reports, clips of violence on social media, and experiences of others and my own, my dreams haven’t been the same.
Written by Deepasri
I could see hands stretched out, grabbing at air to get hold of any part of me, to shatter me. The men, the faceless men, would not stop following me. I knew one thing: This struggle would never end if I stopped running. So run I did, until no one was after me. I ran until I stopped, only to lie on the floor with a deep pit in my stomach. Again somehow, I was surrounded by innumerable faceless men preying on me like vultures.
An unending, exhausting sleep, with my heart pounding faster than I can express, unaware of time and space, with a growing fear of humiliation and death. I awoke when the suffocation overtook me, in an attempt to get away from those faceless men.
I remember this nightmare I had some time ago vividly. It was after the horrifying news of two women being stripped naked and paraded in Manipur.
Nightmares: Anxious, fearful, and stressful moving images that repeat frequently during sleep. Nightmares that have made sleep something to dread. What reality are they trying to impress upon me?
Ever since I began following what is happening in the world, through news channel debates, reports, clips of violence on social media, and experiences of others and my own, my dreams haven’t been the same.
The idea of dreams has always captivated me. I have had a long, dear relationship with them. Since childhood, my dreams have eventually ended up as inspiration for creative endeavours. Running to my mother to narrate the vague images was among the interesting routines in my childhood. Now, the dreams have changed. So has my relationship with them.
Now, there is something every day that has the potential to leave deep, terrifying wounds. Brutal violence against the marginalised, hate campaigns against religious and linguistic minorities, and incessant atrocities have all been enabled, not deterred, by the powers that be. Agendas are rarely accompanied by action. They make you dream of what can be, until that hope diminishes and nightmares are all you can find when your head hits the pillow.
From explosions and murder to mass killing – we cannot ignore the horror just because it happens. It creeps into our psyche. Perhaps this means that there is something inescapable that connects all people after all.
To what extent, then, can I run away from the clutches of the troublesome world my nightmares conjure? The themes in my nightmares, unlike the fantasies of childhood, are fairly consistent: Anxiety, hopelessness and despair. These nightmares, however gruesome, act as a space to realise the social and political realities I am surrounded by.
The fear of being a woman, the fear of being anything that goes against the social current, the fear of holding a critical view, and the fear of expressing indignation will continue to creep in as nightmares.
I ask myself: How long can I remain a conformist, meeting the needs of authority, turning a blind eye to the unfair treatment millions across the world are compelled to accept? The truth is that when nightmares are made up of reality, reality is a nightmare.
Today, sleep comes at a cost.
The writer is an undergraduate student of History at Hansraj College, Delhi University. She is currently an intern at The Indian Express
© The Indian Express Pvt Ltd
First uploaded on: 13-07-2024 at 11:53 IST
