Having been reading The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy just before dozing off, in all probability I should have been dreaming of Zaphod Beeblebrox, the two headed three armed Galactic President who I am told has been voted the Worst Dressed Sentient Being in the Known Universe for, hold your breath, a total of seven times. Just the candidate for any self respecting brain to unleash on you in your dream, don’t you think? Or else there is Marvin the chronically depressed robot with Genuine People Personality, the poetry spouting Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz of the Galactic Hyperspace Planning Council, the researcher Ford Prefect from some small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse or even the measly earthling Arthur Dent whom Ford took along when the Earth was demolished (omg!) to make way for the new hyper-spatial express route. With so many likely candidates from the book I am reading swimming around, my brain digs around and finds the unlikeliest of them all to shove into my dream!!
I have never gone ga-ga over him like the millions of them out there. A good actor alright, nice face, great body, packs a mean punch when it comes to bashing up the villains and his dance moves are fit to feast your eyes on. However, I can take him or leave him. Not like the other one, the Junior B, who makes my aged heart go a-flutter. Sigh! And yet who tiptoes into my dream on that Tuesday afternoon while I snooze? Hrithik Roshan, I tell you. How unfair!
There I was in a strange building. Dare I hope it was in some little known planet light years away in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy as it says in the book? Naaah. It seemed like a regular earth building. Sheesh. I was in a huge sort of hall, ornate and empty. Don’t ask me what I was doing there because I don’t know. This fellow, Hrithik Roshan appears out of nowhere and sidles up to me with that charming sexy smile of his turned full on. Probably the self same one that floored and floors Suzanne and the rest of the gang of his female fans. Not me. I am immune to it.
I look at him quizzically. We haven’t been introduced to each other and he is a stranger to me after all. He comes closer to me, the 1000 watt smile not faltering at my lack of response and stands there looking down at me. Yes, what do you want? My eyes have the questioning, no-nonsense look. Now hold your breath again while I tell you what happened next and don’t you dare go rolling on the floor laughing your silly heads off just because I am telling you the truth as it is. He tells me to wash his hands for him. Not that I could see they were dirty or grubby in any way. Well-manicured, neat and clean are how they looked to me. Aww come on, I told you not to laugh! Oh well…I know its kind of funny and all.
If you ask me, it should be Suzanne to whom he should be going to if he wants his hands soaped and washed. Or any one of his million fans. Where do I come in this? Beats me. Mystifying stuff your brain comes up with on unsuspecting you when helpless you sleep. I am sure there are countless females other than Suzanne all over India, and outside, who would give their eyeteeth for doing just that. Yet I am the one chosen to wash his already spotlessly clean hands. And wonder of wonders, I am doing just that, instead of telling him ‘go take a walk’! Here is where I register my formal protest against my brain for coming up with and making me do things in my dream that I would not in my waking state.
I take the liquid hand-wash, soap his hands and wash them under the tap in the sink. He is charm personified, all smiles. And no, I am not, which does not seem to faze him one bit. While I am wiping his hand dry with a spotless white, no not pink, towel suddenly and mysteriously the place begins to fill up. I hear someone call his name and then there are others on the scene. I look on as his fans and admirers surround him. He throws one last smile my way before he is swallowed by the crowd and…..
My dream is over. I wake up. I realize one thing. Throughout , I had not returned his smile even once in my dream. Strange isn’t it, considering people always ask me why I smile all the time!!
Post script: The Lord and Master has declared a state-wide mourning of four days as I dreamed of Hirthik Roshan and not him.
This post was showcased at sulekha.com. Reposted from shail-mohan blogs @ sulekha.com