I Have A Dream

Someone had once asked me, “What do you want in life? What would make you happy?”

I said, “A room of my own with a writing table, a window of sunshine and a cup of coffee.” A place to love, laugh and live. A place to heal. Somewhere I could feel safe. I have always felt this is just a decent thing to want in life. But recently, I stopped believing that.

Every day I find myself asking - Is it too much? Is it too much that I want to stop running for once ad want time and shelter to heal?

Maybe, it is. In a world where thousands thrive on the streets, thousands go hungry all day, in a world where so many walk alone, healing is a luxury… a luxury the balance sheets of the world cannot allow. I don’t know if it’s too much, but I can dream all the same, can’t I? We all can dream.

We all dream, one fine morning, we will stop running, we will stop looking over our shoulders, being chased and haunted by our nightmares. One day, we will stop thriving and start living. Oneday, we all will sit at our writing tables beside a window of sunshine and sip warm coffee. A harmless dream. What do we have to lose after all?

And do you know what’s funny? I have a dream of my dream. I dream that, the day my dream comes true, I will go to the highest point of Kolkata at the middle of the night and watch my city. The city that has stayed by me through all my sleepless nights. And I will say a heartfelt ‘Thank you’.

***

As a child, I loved Anne of Green Gables. ‘Anne’ spelled with an ‘e’. That was because, she always had her dreams and imagination, no matter how cruel life was to her. I always wanted to be like her, to rise to the zenith of life in rain and in sun, with the thrill of imagination.

She kept me alive and awake all through my solitary nights. She made me go on fighting, and go on dreaming, even when, in the heart of my hearts, I felt things could never be right again.

I know, for many of us, New Year means nothing. What can it mean when all we are left with, is this same old rotten shit of a life?  You know what Anne tells me? She tells me to close my eyes and imagine.

Imagine, it’s a beautiful white morning with cherry blossoms wreaking havoc all over. In the shady avenue, we are standing hand in hand, as tender pink blossoms shower on us in a light drizzle. Soft sunshine peeps through the leaves and branches, like a playful child. You smile and squeeze my hand. I squeeze yours back, with an ache of gladness.

How does that feel? She then asks me.

I look at her with rapture in my eyes. She knows what I feel. She always does.

***

After almost an age, I sit down to write and type the words into my screen. And as I do so, I close my eyes. A deep earnest ‘thank you’ flies out from my soul, like a flight of white pigeons. I whisper to myself, “Thank you Anne, for fighting for me and with me, all through this rampage.”

This, my friend, goes out as a tribute to Anne Shirley of Green Gables, to the ‘Anne’-s of Kolkata, Washington, Egypt, and Nigeria, to all the ‘Anne’-s of yesterday, today and tomorrow.

To those who keep fighting, dreaming and … fighting.