“I have missed you all” I felt alive resting my arms on the podium and looking at the young faces. Irfan was seated in the front row, in the company of the vibrant yet sleepy faces.
“I have been dreaming a lot, lately. Dreaming of Sophia and Vyasa, narrating poems and riddles, telling me that I am sick, well, who is not? And no, Sophia is not my girlfriend’s name she is the Greek Goddess who is known to hold the virtue of knowledge and philosophy. Lucid dreams. They are really fun, you know. Any experiences?”
Irfan raised his hand, surprisingly enough to his invert behaviour.
“I have been dreaming a series. Every night, I write before falling asleep and the dreams are always comprehensive to the writings. Last night, I wrote how I was missing home, and I dreamt about sitting next to my father and reading the Quran. The Quran because it was a school assignment once, back at my place.”
Poor boy had to vindicate reading a religious text for the sake of his sustenance. “Ah, interesting Aadesh. Maybe, you should write the dream and follow where a single thought takes you. If the magic is happening, use the ink and your wand wisely.”
A girl raised her hand from the extreme left corner of the class, a brunette wearing a plain black T-shirt. The sight of a new face trying to build the discussion had always been aesthetically pleasing.
“I never understood the concept, the sub-consciousness is frail and it never means anything practical. How does it even matter?”
Just the question I was waiting for, the class response is the usual, inspiring enough to answer my own queries.
“Well, I ask myself the same question, but then again poetry has taught me to look beyond and believe in abstract matter. So you tell me, the practical world? Is it all we have to comprehend? This classroom, a few more places to be and then the bed. I suppose we need to be reminded to imagine and flow out of the concrete life we live. The meaning might be obscured, but the dream will help your friend, Aadesh to write tonight.” I ended my explanation with a calm smile.
“Oh, sure, inspires us to be out of the box. But, the world rarely allows us the freedom, this is one class where we are taught to get out and the others preach discipline and concrete methods that shall never be questioned.”
“A bright mind burning there, I can see the vibrant proportion of your curiosity. Why don’t you, my friend, write us a piece that deals with this conflict. Dreams vs Reality? You can capture grades out of this, and some perception of your way to live. Let me know the name.”
“My name is Floressa, sir. It sounds fun.”
“Perfect. So there is this literal tool, called the allegory. Allegory dominated the ancient poetry. From Piers Plowman in the English to the Romance of the Rose in French, the poems engaged allegory via dreams. In Langland’s Piers Plowman, the protagonist dreams and meets characters like faith, vice and virtue. And well, his life is sorted once he wakes up. Catch the cues, Floressa. Although, I will be really happy if you record subjective stats. So, dreaming will help you, class. To write and understand the abstract of experiences that we read in literature. Well then, go home and dream, I guess?”
I picked up my register and felt my heart beat in a rhythm that has always been soothing. I am not sick, at least not here in the world of words and allegories. Rest, I shall wait for the universe to address me again.
*This is the last chapter that shall be uploaded to the blog. Hopefully, I will get the whole story public once threaded along in print. Also, here is more of a teaser, the next ten chapters will be under the account of Irfan’s narration.*