Dealing with weirdest dreams

 

Where does such a weird dream come from? I’m clueless. President Trump is working as an electrician in my depilated room. It’s the old style, laborious electric wire fitting he is working on. A lurching bamboo ladder laid against the wall, he has a hammer and a chisel in his heavy hands, making a little hole in the plastered upper wall just under the ceiling to fix little wooden bits in the grooves to nail narrow wooden strips on them. These were used to bind wires on them during the good old times.

The room has dusty green, peeling lime-wash coating on the walls. A green dust has settled on his lovely orange hair. Me and my father—who departed 15 years back—are watching him with intimidating curiosity. He takes a break and climbs down the ladder. We are embarrassed. Surprisingly, President Trump doesn’t seem offended or angry. I mumble apologetically, ‘You are the most powerful man on earth. I don’t know how do we land in your life. But I see the tough phase of the task is over.’ Frankly speaking I don’t have any clue as to how such a thing lands in my subconscious to surface as a weird dream.