I am not sure how a psychoanalyst defines a dream – a thought, a subconscious reflection , recollection of an innate desire or something else. I purposefully did not google for a diligent review of dreams as that would probably incite a prejudice or a prompt, and rob me of the originality of expression of such wonderful dream that I had during the previous night.
From an interpretation of the recent dream, I incline to believe that dreams have an essential property to connect events and people of different eras  without any seeming anachronism. I woke up this morning in the middle of such dream with a sweet lingering fragrance of the past intimately intertwined with the wonderful reality of the present.
I immediately jotted down certain poignant scenes for a later elaboration, lest I forget.
Our ancestral house was located in Sarai Payeen along the lane connecting Dastageer sahib with Hazuri Bagh. My grandfather had constructed this house during the thirties of the last century. It was a substantially large four storey property including the attic, popularly known as ‘kaanee’ – for some very queer reason our elders would call it ‘tower’. Essentially a wooden affair, the flooring constituted of small tiles having a purple, yellow and a blue hue. Most of the rooms had wall niches and one large room in the third floor had collapsible wooden partitions between the wooden columns, known as ‘waroosi’ in vernacular. There were several latticed windows with stained glass on a portion of the front elevation.  When running full, this home of ours was full of chirps, laughter and chaos emanating from at least twenty one boys , girls and children with ages varying from  twenty five to five years.
With the onset of colony culture this property was sold during the early nineties of the last century. It must have been a decade ago once I decided to visit our old home for my children to have a peep. There was not one trace of that large hearted home – yes, I witnessed a monstrous concrete commercial complex selling galvanised roofing sheets, cement and paint.  I was distraught.
The dream sequence.
I see myself huddled together with my grandmother, father, mother, an uncle, a few aunts, brothers, sisters, cousins on the third floor of our home watching television. The beautiful  aspect was to notice my wife and children interacting with all of them when in fact they have neither seen my grandmother nor my father, as I got married once my dear grandmother and father had already passed away. And I did not suspect one bit of fiction or fantasy in that sequence, and I couldn’t have, because it came to me in the form of a dream.
A while after that I see my mother seated in a taxi in front of the house . Here I must identify that the lane appeared as idyllic as it used to be in those halcyon days. Clean, calm and serene with certain familiar faces treading along - much unlike the fish market of today. I ask my mother  where was she heading for, and why alone? She says that she is going to Gojwora to meet Shaista. I inquired whether she was familiar with the address and she says that she shall inquire the exact whereabouts  from some local once she reaches Firdous cinema. I ask her why she did not call Arif on his mobile and she pleads that his phone is switched off and she is in a hurry. I call Arif on an alternate number and summon him. He says that he is in City Centre Mall and that he shall come in the next ten minutes. Once Arif arrives, I am satisfied to see them off. 
Here I must offer a brief interpretation about Shaista, Gojwara, Firdous Cinema, City Centre , Mobile Phone, Arif and my inability to notice my grandfather in that dream. One of the cousins of my mother is settled in Pakistan for the last so many decades and suffering from some sort of dementia for a long time now. She has difficulty in remembering her children and relatives. For all practical purposes we had lost touch with the family until a few months ago once one of her  daughter called Shaista established contact with us through social networking. She is settled in Sydney and now regularly calls my mother and talks to her for a long time. She says that she gets a filial satisfaction while talking to my mother as her own mother is incoherent in speech and thought. My youngest sister is visiting her daughter in Adelaide and while speaking to her yesterday , I was told that she is looking forward to visit Shaista in Sydney after Eid. My mother was happy to note that and narrated childhood stories of her cousin who happened to live in Gojwara.  I do not believe that my mother knows one bit about a cinema called Firdous cinema but I incline to believe it was my subconscious cognizance of Firdous cinema that made my mother reveal the name of the cinema. Arif is the son of our driver and hails from Rajasthan. Habib is on vacation and Arif is a stop-gap arrangement and neither he nor his father have ever visited Kashmir. And City Centre is a local mall here in the UAE and a favourite one to pick up grocery.  Oh yes, how come I call Arif on his mobile in such era when mobile phones did not exist?
Notwithstanding the fact in real life that there was enough disconnect and anachronism between people and events in that dream sequence, yet the dream presented itself as a virtual reality without any glitch or oddity.
I might as well identify that I did not see my grandfather, probably for the reason that I did not have sighting cognizance of him as he had passed away  before my birth and was imperceptible to my subconscious.
To cap it all, how satisfied I was noticing my children, Zaira and Saif interacting with my father and grandmother. I got an emotive cushion on either side of my personality and life suddenly became so meaningful. 
Only dreams make that possible.          

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Lastupdate on : Wed, 15 Aug 2012 21:30:00 Makkah time
Lastupdate on : Wed, 15 Aug 2012 18:30:00 GMT
Lastupdate on : Thu, 16 Aug 2012 00:00:00 IST