It was all in a night’s dream.
I could feel the curtains flying in the room. I could feel the sunlight on my face. It was as if I woke up to my future, one fine spring morning. I could see and hear my life so clearly. I could feel the softness of it in my fingers. It felt like soft cotton cloth- livable, breathable and comfortable.
I woke upto a voice, which was singing out of the bathroom. It wasn’t a stranger. I liked the singing. It gave a sense of security.
The security is very unlike my life.
My room was bare and a bit untidy, with newspaper strewn on the bed and a few sheets flying in the room. He had been reading the papers. There was a cup of tea on the side-table, which ran cold, waiting for me. I didn’t bother too much about it.
It was an unusually early Sunday morning. Sunlight drifted into the room through the open window. It let in a cool spring breeze. I could see the neighbouring buildings in the society. I was up on the 7th floor of the building.
It was a happy morning. I liked batik printed bed sheet and soft cushions on the bed. I got out of the bed and walked out of the room.
I came out into my bare and bright drawing room. It had white and uneven walls, sun-yellow and orange curtains, and stone floor. It felt nice to walk on it with my bare feet.
We both had decorated our home together. It was a warm home. I opened the French windows, and went into my balcony. It had an oil painting stand. I painted. He liked to watch me paint.
I liked him. And I like that we aren’t just friends. And we aren’t just lovers. We liked each-others silent company. I painted a lot. And he got them framed. He read the books I got.
We would lie on the couch together. And read books.
I know of days when we spoke about movies and art. And we traveled to remote places. We walked in the rains. And on the beach. And we laughed a lot.
It was life. Exactly the way I had imagined. We lived together. The word marriage was too trivial to decide the boundaries.
Some saw it as a miserable excuse of a life. For us, it was a dream. Which we lived, with our eyes wide open.
Yes. We were married. But that did not decide our lives.
We were two wrong, abnormal people who had life staring at us from the window, and knocking on our doors; a life we were unprepared for. But what we had, was a treasure.
The meaning of life, seen through a dreamer's eyes.
Yes, I dreamt it all. I saw my future in a glimpse, in that dark, rainy night of Mumbai, in my sleep.What would you call such a dream? A dream?
Or your whole Life?
