Orange country
If you too suffer from recurring dreams — the ones you watch with your eyes closed, not open — you’d relate to this post. I’ve been…
If you too suffer from recurring dreams — the ones you watch with your eyes closed, not open — you’d relate to this post. I’ve been obsessed with Donald Trump for several months now and my curiosity to understand his rise betrays my usual indifference. Similarly, my obsession with him belies admiration because i’ve hardly noticed any redeemable quality worth emulating in him yet. I can’t even say his teetotalism inspires me because i’m already a non-drinker. Regardless, it’s understandable how he managed to illegally enter my la la land. When you happen to read too much about a person for too long, they sneak into your subconsciousness. In other words, he is the man of my dreams; as unsavory as that might sound like. What’s not understandable though is why he talks to me in Tulu during my shuteye. I simply get into the flow and act as awkwardly as a given scene demands me to. Last night, we were talking about a farm and i was trying to convince him that building a dam in our village was a bad idea. I don’t know whether that dam was built or not but i couldn’t ask him how come he speaks my mother tongue fluently. Or for that matter, what exactly was he always doing in the countryside. Doesn’t he have bigger things to do with his executive orders? Weird. My immediate goal in life is to crack this cheat code and ask him the aforementioned questions the next time he turns up. On second thought, it’s interesting that he was keen on building a dam instead of a wall. Last time around, we were plucking oranges in the orchard of some random ancestral house. I don’t even like oranges!