Apr 22, 2008

The Dairy Ghost

I dream of Curd. Yogurt. Buttermilk. Butter. Milk.
And they can be categorized as dreams (the meaningless, useless ones without any clues to hidden treasures or something equally fanciful) or full-fledged nightmares.

Category I – I see myself getting into this beautiful house, huge and well lit. The lights are bright and has this milky-white, typical dreamlike quality. The furniture is white, the bed – ah, the humongous bed is covered with sparkling white sheet. The pillows appear so full, fluffy and light: just like freshly made butter. I see the house is full of people and I am supposed to cook a large, tasty meal. (Yet another horror story from my repository that gets dealt separately in other dreams) All I can find, in that ridiculously large kitchen, is milk. Bucketfuls. Now how the hell is one supposed to cook delicacies with milk and milk alone?
I panic. I choke. I wake up.

Category II – I am walking towards the ocean. And the ocean is made up of buttermilk. I can see huge blobs of butter floating like giant icebergs. I get a nauseating feeling; I want to run back home. But the waves come crashing. I get flung into the ocean. I didn’t find Lord Vishnu anywhere nearby to save me (the breaker of my sleep – probably somewhere in his own dreamland, snoring)
I panic. I choke. I wake up.

For the past two weeks I have been haunted by the Dairy Ghost, if I can call it that. Just when my eye-lids are drooping with promise of a dreamless, deep sleep and a hopeful fresh beginning, a mad thought creeps in – of having to wake up at hours that I dread. At a time when I am sure even the birds are having dreamless, deep sleep, the milkman gets us milk.

Cow’s, buffalo’s or donkey’s milk - who the hell cares? Can he not come at a saner time and ring the bell only once? The nonexistent fat in the milk is definitely not going to kill me, I know. It is the doorbell that will give me a massive heart attack one of these days. I wonder if it is the Devil himself dressing up as the persistent milkman, making sure I don’t get my share of white clouds, bards and halos.
On second thoughts, I don’t think I need those white clouds. Those light, fluffy white clouds. Reminds me of…

8 comments:

Rambler said...

hehhe of all the things.. dairy???

looks like someone is having a milkful summer :)

Priya Iyer said...

:)) only you can spin a tale out of a milkman's visit...

RustyNeurons said...

rambler: yes sir, that's how the mind works when there is no other work!

priya: :) thank you!! he is a pain...

Bikerdude said...

Simi Garewal - is what this all reminds me of. Now clasp your hands together, and coo out a little song with your celebrity guest :)

RustyNeurons said...

BD: Never mind!!
Here I am all frustrated and fussing over the agony of waking up at early hours, you all you think of Simi G? Cheee.. .

backpakker said...

lol...that was quite something..
lakshmi

Priya said...

you poor thing! :-) next time you dream of milk, add some chocolate and have a shake! (yes yes, one makes the most amazing PJs)

that aside.. I think your milkman is channeling my cook.. she used to come early, but she isn't these days..so.. must be her..

Anonymous said...

The watered milk, and light pund stane,
They gar me wander here my lane.