I was just shot, in a dream. It was some factional/communal aggression that led to it. I wasn't supposed to either be there or be defending justice; I should've been next door, with Papa, doors shut tight, pretending unconcern. Funny thing about dreams is that in one, I rarely come up with rhetoric - I'm mostly silent, trying to fix things through mere gaze and gestures. The characters in this dream were all Indian, and it was a Sardarji in the adjacent hall/apartment whom I was trying to save. I woke up with a sensation of being shot that quickly drained away... I don't know what to blame - the world is pushing so much of morbid data into my head.
Then I step out into the dining hall. Some TV soap where one of the Bahus, the pregnant one, has a fall, and the other Bahu dons an evil smile, thinking to herself "the way she fell, it doesn't look like the child is gonna come out alive". If we're talking about morbid, this disqualifies my dream.
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