The Strange Dream Two

It was something of an open-air auditorium in the campus of a university; but we were not students of that university. We were assembled for a most unusual two-part event.

A large, concrete, rectangular wall, pale peach in colour, was to serve as the projection screen. It was situated at one end of a stage. At two of the vertices of the stage floor, situate at the same end as the wall, were two tall pillars, also of pale peach concrete. There was empty space between the pillar and the breadth of the wall on either end, perfectly identical. Three stairs only, but of sufficient dimensions such as to seat audiences, led down to the stage.

Lieutenant General S.P.P. Thorat, General Officer Commanding-in-Chief of the Eastern Command of the Indian Army, was presenting the military strategy that he had developed, the purpose of which was to respond to a potential invasion by the Chinese. He was in uniform, his language was flawless, and his voice had the ring of authority and experience. Surreally, though he was facing the East and the sun was high up in the sky, we were able to see the projected images from his power-point presentation with utmost clearness.

Having concluded with his presentation, he stepped away from the stage and took a seat among the audience on the front step. A panel soon assembled to discuss whether General Thorat’s strategy constituted a provocation to the Chinese, consisting of a few Americans and a few British only — significantly void of either Indians or Chinese.

One of the speakers was William F. Buckley Jr. He was the most articulate voice of the post-WWII conservative movement in the United States. His voice was soporiferous, not because he droned on but because it was that mellifluous and soothing. He started to speak using a microphone, but the microphone rendered his words rather unclear. Someone in the audience pointed this out. “I am not quite audible, you say?” he asked to confirm. “Rather positively, I might add,” I said to him, and to my immense surprise, my voice sounded exactly like that of Dr. Shashi Tharoor.

And then I awoke to the distinctive sounds of my grandmother boiling the morning milk.