Ummm... "the bitch", "the bitch" doesn't sound decent. Let's call her Julie (in memory of my late pet, Julie. If I assign any Indian name to the bitch, you may think I've some enmity towards a girl with that name. Anyway, the dream-wali Julie looked a bit like my real Julie. They both had four legs, snake-like tail, two eyes and a wet nose).
Yeah, so I had my arms around Julie's neck, we were sitting on a pavement, lost in conversation. I wasn't speaking in bow-wows, she was speaking in Hindi. I don't remember what exactly we were talking about, just that I was a bit down and sharing it with her, just as I share with friends. Julie impressed me with her wise words; she was analysing the situation—I don't remember what it was—and I was listening, absorbing, nodding. She was comforting me, and I was glad, grateful that she was there for me.
Let's analyse it
That's all. I don't remember anything else. Now, what is the point of this dream, if any?
1. Sigmund Freud says dreams are the royal road to subconscious. Our subconscious is where all our suppressed desires, feelings and impulses are stored. If Freud is right—many scientists say he isn't—then... I mean... What do I find on my royal road to subconscious? A bitch. What's my suppressed desire? To be heard and understood by a bitch. C'mon, a bitch?
There are other possible interpretations:
2. In real life, I need not keep distance from a girl just because she seems to be a bitch. She may be sweet and understanding, after all. (Hmmm... I need to think about it.)
3. Beware of girls who sweet-talk you. She's a bitch! (Nah, this can't be. Of all my former female friends—all were so sweet until the snub-act—only one's been a bitch. I've no hard feelings for the rest.)
4. I'm willing to settle for a bitch. (Eww... No! the bitch in dream was not a bitchy bitch. Maybe she was the bitch incarnation of my dreamgirl? What am I saying!)
5. I covet a bitch. Two-legged. (Well, which guy doesn't!)
Whoa! Take a break, Hemant Gairola. This is taking self-analysis to dangerous levels. I pity myself. With open eyes, I dream of a beauty. With eyes closed, I dream of a bitch! Tragic. And what is worse is that this is not my weirdest dream. I'm wallowing in self-pity after writing all this and thus will end here. With a sigh.
“Dreaming permits each and everyone of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.” —William Dement