Dreambuster

For me at least, dreams, are here to stay. I am a voracious dreamer. When I was younger, I had dreams of cruising through the streets leaving only a trail of smoke behind. Like my favorite superhero, I wanted to swish past people before they could even bat their eyelids. Pestered Dad for a flashy bike and even tried being a Godspeed. It was all crash and burn. That was my first encounter with this horrible place fondly called the hospital. Tears were shed. Lectures were there. Only one question kept bothering me whether my bike was okay or would it be stashed away to some remote island? I feared that I won't be able to ride it again, let alone speed it ! I didn't let the pain of my bruises silence my requests. Although initially nothing seemed to cut ice with my seemingly stern father, I knew deep down that he was always prone to mellow if I kept placating him. While I was recuperating, I would limp daily to the garage to have a look at my bike. With it being still and no key in the ignition, I would turn the full accelerator, feel its clutch , et al. With great difficulty , I would somehow manage to sit on it and fathom myself heading along some scenic highway.

When you are in those years, the high-decibel..super speed...adrenaline rush years... you dream incessantly. Deep within everyone knows that some won't fruitify. Some would require an extraordinary play of luck. Some would need an insane amount of will-power and resilience on our part to be realised. Nevertheless, we dream. The mechanism of dreams is so simple. You have time. You have desire. You have innate and acquired talents. You have your cordon of well-wishers who want you to be someone. You have this heart that keeps telling you that these guys deserve to have their faith rewarded. You make plans. You assess if you can really get there. You overestimate your capabilities or most of the time you downplay yourself. You see these people on the streets, sometimes seemingly mediocre ones, leading a flashy life. You browse the newspapers to read the success stories. You count the number of productive years you have. And then you start to dream. Then situations are there. Favorable ones give you that nudge to pursue the whole catalogue with even more ferocity. Unfavorable, disatrous ones unsettle you and constantly provoke you to give up and be a mute acceptor of make-believe reality. If everything is so chalked out- why have we never been able to tame the frustrations that rise after every little deadlock that befalls us? Why a split second moment of success makes us so complacent that we chuck out all our ethics and gorge on poor blokes. Dreams are never bad. It is just that tapped intoxication of their realisation that makes Frankensteins out of us.

Pikku is 17. He looks rattled. Dreams-eh! What is there to life? Bike-ah well!.. a group to hang out with, get in a cool college, grab a job and drive sleek cars. The route always looks easy..well at least before you take your backpack and start travelling on it. Sometimes you have to do this hitchhiking-- and tell you what--luck entertains a few travellers out there.

It's certain that some of your dreams won't ever come true. They were chimerical-may be, in the first place. Some of them would be pretty much realisable but you would goof up and curse yourself for it all your life. Some around you would become successful before you have even taken that first sip of happiness. People would be behind you-always- rooting for your downfall--and some fervently praying for you to succeed. It is these two kind of people who would egg you on to perform. Success is an esoteric territory. Once you get there, life won't really be a cakewalk. You might still screw things up for yourself.

Keep it simple. Take one dream-at a time. Give it your life-if it takes. Savor the outcome. Done-or not done- try to assimilate as much thrill as possible from the challenge that it poses to you. Look at me. I had this slew of dreams to start with. Screwed some of them. Some turned out to be true in the long run. Right now, I have this recurring dream of dying peacefully- night after night. With content. With loved ones all around me. With every one of you -known or unknown- forgiving me for whatever wrong I might have done to you in my blind dream-chase.

There is another dream --juxtaposed this one. Of surviving all this ordeal and going on for another 50 years:p ....Silly, haan?

P.S :: Prianca, don't give up on your dreams , please.

PLP, Kudos! You always remind me of my doggedness. Your indomitable will, the capacity to overcome the gloomy phases of your life is something I adore. With all my heart, I wish I could absorb some of it. How easy it would have been to endure all this, then?

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Saturday here and Pikku is having no classes today. He is gasping and still trying to collect his breath. In his absence, I was only rolling my fingers and moving here and there in the park. Many a time, I had an irresistible urge to write but my frailty held me back. It won't be a lie if I said that I was impatiently waiting for Pikku to turn up and help me empty whatever feelings I had stashed for the occasion in my leaky bucket.

The hospital is in a frenzy this morning. Through my glass I can see a flurry of activities. Everyone seems to be in a hurry. This is time to administer the first dose of the never-ending sequel of pill popping. Today being Saturday, relatives have finally found sometime to visit poor chaps like us. Minutes ago, nurse had come in and made me assume uncomfortable postures. Why? She was doing my bed and removing things that were hiding beneath the bed-sheet to pinch against my back. She would have sung the cleanliness song if I had asked her to stop and leave me unperturbed with my thoughts. But even now, situations have not tired from stopping by, every once in a while to make things difficult for me in their inimitable style. Pikku has brought me a chocolate, for he knows, I have always loved it. So much so, that on my pyre, I might be seen munching on it. Sit for once in adulation and then sleep forever. Who knows? Strange things are expected to occur after I have had enough of everything.

Do you think the details of my ailment are really that important? It would take him ages to understand what abstruse piece of shit all of this is. He won't be able to spell it for the next ten years. Pikku gives me a glare for underestimating him. Come to think of it, would you bother to nurse a hand that has scourged you since the dawn of time? Pikku doesn't like to hear the name of the disease. As it stands, it is hell-bent to snatch me away from him.

My parents make countless visits to my place. So that I never feel that I am left to my own imbecile, rusty devices. They are the perpetual springs of love. I have always wondered how they generate this endless forbearance to love someone even when he has never reciprocated it in a way he should have. We never pause and think how good our parents are when we are going strong. But somehow now, I have come to believe that even in the most turbulent of times, when even "you" desert yourselves, the faith and love of our parents anchors us to something so immovable that adversities fall like flies in front of it.

Pikku sighs. There is a tint of smile on his lips. I like to think he is smiling because of the same reason as I am. Perhaps not. Because I started beaming first. And seeing it, Pikku gave me the widest smile he has ever sported. I pray that nothing crops up to steal that glimmer in his eyes. So why did I smile? I was thinking how even the most rockiest of people thaw at the thought of death. How all our principles which we have looked down upon all our life return with unconquerable force and we kneel and embrace them happily.

I am going through some of your blogs. They smell of life and hope. Well! to an ailing man, life, hope and love are his drugs. He loses even the last shreds of his immunity whenever he encounters these three musketeers . I would comment and they might seem dispirited and lackluster. Excuse me people for that.

There is a hint of pain in Pikku. Looks afraid. I have so many things undulating out of me! Looks like there is a flood that would take everything in its control. Pikku knows he would grow tired at the end of the day. In bits and pieces, intermittently , he would write, all through the weekend, under the annoying noise of an eternally slow fan. There is a little channel of sweat that has appeared out of some invisible pore in his visibly ( read understandably) pallid skin and is gradually sliding down. I believe when you love someone very much, it cuts both ways. I feel sorry for him. Indeed.

I sound like a cannibal. I feel like I am trying to push him off the cliff. But then my eyes have issued an apology to him and he seems to have forgiven me.

P.S:: For the record, I am strolling in the park and would handpick anyone who catches my fancy. Lets say if you give me a reason to smile, I shall hold you tight , to the point that you may suffocate. I have this knack ( so characteristic of perishable organisms)of clinging to people and things that give me hope. A reason to live.

Underlying mathematics is simple . I like you, I blog-roll you!

Ciao.