Reader, if you are not into cricket, or the reality of dreams, maybe you ought to ignore this and read the next Substack when I have something new or different to say.
On June 28, I was driving on a highway and had to turn into a rest stop so that I could follow on my phone the last few overs during which India clinched victory in the finals. But when is a game only a game? For instance, people very quickly compared the story of Rahul Dravid’s redemption from a losing captain to a winning coach—and this story was readily mapped in the national imagination on the old Bollywood story from “Chak De! India.” The past is a nightmare and you wake up from it into a dream-reality of the present. It happens rarely. But when it does, it ushers you into a drama of glorious existence. This is what happened to a lot of us as we followed the cricket game in Barbados, a story about danger and delightful rescue. All the talk of dreams becoming reality made me wonder if my compatriots found themselves—quite literally—seeing new or different dreams during the past few weeks. Did you have Rohit Sharma or Virat Kohli or Jasprit Bumrah appear in your sleep? What were they doing in your dreams? I ask because this drama of humiliation and the magic of victory is tied to our deepest psychic realities and that is why sport takes on this great meaning in our lives. (By the way, just this morning a friend of mine, the writer Sumana Roy, asked me in a message whether I had read Rohit Brijnath’s piece on Rahul Dravid. Which essay did she mean? Did she have this old BBC piece in mind? Or this one? Google turned up this one too but it is possible that Sumana wanted me to read some other piece. I don’t care. Each image we build in our minds of our favorite stars are pieces of intimate fantasy. I wouldn’t be able to access Sumana’s particular Dravid even if I found the right piece she wanted me to read. I’m as invested in fantasy as any one else: part of the reason I named my son Rahul has to do with the sense of decency and dogged skill I saw in Dravid.)
Talking of fantasy and dreams, I’m haunted by a particular memory, and this memory often returns like the repressed. It is a memory of a scene from a film from my youth, Goutam Ghose’s “Paar.” A poor couple from Bihar, a husband and a wife driven away from their village into the city by poverty and feudal violence, are suddenly greeted by a crowd celebrating India’s World Cup victory. (The film was made in 1984; the previous year, India had recorded a magical victory in the cricket World Cup final against the magnificent West Indies.) How vulgar, superficial, inhumane is this celebration! The nationalist orgy denies the reality of all those who aren’t even included in any meaningful way in the life of the nation. The duo in the film, peasants played by Shabana Azmi and Naseeruddin Shah, stare uncomprehendingly at the frenzied crowd. And it was this scene from the film that came back to me when I read the news recently of a violent mob at a cricket match in a Gujarat village brutally killing a Muslim youth who was playing with them.
So many dreams, so many nightmares.
P.S. I want to use this Substack for a useful goal. I’m serious about dreams. Once, I read about dreams collected of people living under Nazism. (I know, I know, everyone has a damned Substack. See the cartoon from the New Yorker below. )But if you are so inclined, will you please discuss your dreams in the comments? Or write to me? We have read in the news that Arundhati Roy is being charged with sedition and that Medha Patkar is faced with another legal assault on her freedom and activism. Do such frightful realities enter your dreams and provide new entries in "the journals of the night?”
As someone coerced into watching the match, which in hindsight I'm glad I watched, I enjoyed this very much. Thank you. On dreams: Angry hanuman and angry ram car stickers are quite popular on Indian vehicles, irrespective of where you are they're on the road. I've seen them in Lucknow, Delhi, Bangalore, some even in Trivandrum. I had a dream, this was a while back, that the figures from these stickers had replaced Gandhi on Indian notes and had become the new currency. Despite the years that have passed, I remember the dread I felt in my dream.
Hi Amitava.
Thank you for this wonderfully delightful and brilliant substack. It is a joy to read and is often times a tool for turning a bad day into a tolerable day.
I have the most fantastical dreams. Which, I am always surprised at, since in my waking hours, my brain is not that creative. Sure, I am a chef by profession, so there is a level of creativity involved in my life, but 90% of my days are spent putting out fires (literal and otherwise), making sure the restaurant runs smoothly.
I have had dreams where tigers have walked into my house and my cat is chilling with it while the rest of us take cover outside in the pool, giving over the house to the animals.
When I was a kid, for years, I had this dream on repeat where I would be standing on the edge of a mining valley, and all around, written is block letters, is my father's name. I was never scared. But looking back at it, I wonder how I was never unnerved by it.
I dream when I am stressed. On days when anxiety levels are high, or work has been intense, the dreams are completely out there. From family to friends, acquaintances, colleagues, old boyfriends, everyone makes an appearance. Sometimes, all in one night.
The most recent dream I had was where I was getting married (I recently got married, seven months ago, so the memories are still fresh) and the entire time, this ex boyfriend of mine was there, carrying a life size cut out of me and him, showing it to my partner, trying to convince him that this wedding should not happen.
As much as I enjoy these weird dreams, and try and write them down, before going to bed, I dream of having a dreamless completely knocked out sleep :D