The Perfect Hug

So Hugh Jackman, Bala, Tungar, this pretty girl and I are out in the marshes during World War II trying to find something of importance. I don't really know which side we were on, hell, now that I think of it, I'm not sure it even looked like Worl War II, but somehow I knew that it was. Dreams aren't meant to be rational, but I've always held the notion that they reflect something that occupies one's mind on a subliminal level. So yeah, Hugh Jackman might have been there because I watched the unedited version of Wolverine the other day( which sucked) , Bala( my batchmate) and Tungar( class 10 obese biology teacher who had the uncanny ability to catch me red-handed in the most compromising situations) because I'm always reminded of my school days every time I' m back home. But I really can't explain what the pretty girl was doing there. My dreams don't generally have pretty girls I don't know. Either there are hot strippers in perfectly harmonious lesbian activity, or none at all! It's just strange.

But then a lot of strange things have been happening to me for some reason. The other day I was at Someplace with all the others when it struck me that Someplace without its haze of smoke and the overpowering smell of tobacco isn't such a cool place at all. Most of the visitors are old, belonging to the middle-aged to senior-citizen category. I also discovered that Bob Dylan is more catchy than I always thought it was, and that when fat people suddenly lose a lot of weight, they are afflicted with the most terrible kind of flatulence. And while I was preoccupied sorting all this out, (and making fun of certain people for being short) I was assaulted by this Harley Davidson freak who pointed excitedly at my shirt that said "Yes, my dad owns the road" and asked me which road in particular it was that my dad owned. I told him that it was the one outside called Park Street just to dissuade him, but that seemed to egg him further and he pounced on it, "I thought my dad owned that one! Must be Camac Street then!" Despite my natural trust issues with Harley Davidson freaks, I couldn't help marvel at the fact that apparently this old man's old man was still alive. He, himself wore a t-shirt that said "Live fast, Die young" but I think he missed the boat on that one. He was laughing hysterically now when I asked him if he really wanted to buy Park Street...It would only cost him a beer. Upon this, he started shaking his head uncontrollably, laughing like a maniac all the while, and shook my hand and exclaimed "I know you now". Now I would normally take that as a friendly gesture, but I couldn't help the feeling that it did sound a bit creepy. After all, exactly what did he know about me? And he didn't really buy me the beer either. A chill ran down my spine, but fortunately Priyanka's the right height for me to rest my elbow on. As the night wore on, he had occasional spasms( atleast they looked like spasms) when he stood up and started head-banging with deft expertise. It's true, he had mastered the art, but head-banging to Bob Dylan?Wtf!

Coming back to the peculiar dream, the thing of paramount importance that we were searching for turned out to be a blindingly colourful card that magically appeared in my pocket. The mission accomplished, there was jubilation all around during which I hugged the pretty girl and that's when I think my mind hit a bad sector of memory because I remained in that paralytic state for quite some time. Now I don't really wear my emotions on my sleeve and am definitely not the kind to get all excited about finding a postcard from Loompaland, but what I know I'll never do is go hugging random people I've never met before. But then again, if I had to hug someone there, I know it wouldn't be Bala or Tungar( Hugh Jackman?...I dunno), the pretty girl wasn't a bad choice.I have a tendency to discourage any kind of social contact and never really understood the mechanics involved in the process of a hug( how hard are you supposed to squeeze? And for what duration is it supposed to last anyway?), but somehow I got the feeling that it was the perfect hug. Then of course, I felt the wetness and as erotic as that sounds, it was the rain storming through my verandah door. It woke me up and that's when I realised that the 'kol-balish' makes the most perfect hugging partner! (Should've hugged Hugh Jackman just to confirm..)