Under the spell of Dali
A dream I cannot forget July 12, 2000 Karthika 11, Cochin
The sprawling carshed always housed Aravind (the car made by my grandfather):it was a constant, never violated till date. As a child, the garage invoked in me confused emotions. I hated the arid dankness but enjoyed the coolness of the car, the mustiness of its upholstery. A sense of familiarity that won over the beastly darkness.
That night, I was at the garage to retrieve my grandma’s spectacles. But it was not the garage I knew. There was no Aravind. The rectangular space was filled with water, whose shadows made intricate patterns on the plaster chipped walls. Those patterns rose and fell like a sleeping body.
I crawled down the threshold, waded to the centre of the garage, alone, surrounded by undulating patterns. The glasses clasped in my palms, I stopped and turned around. In front of me were the most fragile garage shutters made of glass. Through the shutters, I could see scraggy people strolling down the road, clutching their wares in a businesslike manner. I looked closely. They were walking upside down.