“Dreams are never empty”, said the wise person ages back, “you strive to fulfil them, some you will and some you won’t. But, it is great that you have dreams”.
Today I am living few of my dreams. It is not as if I was always aware of this fact. It struck me when I went back by a few years to search the reason for my optimism and attitude to give it a try in the past. Maybe the act of dreaming is more pleasurable than realising those dreams and the effort of making them sustain forever. Attaining something that you never dared to think you could achieve but yet not being aware you are so close to your destination is funny, because it throws up the dreaded question: “What Next?” Dreaded because I know that the step is sure impossibility because it will require an Anju Bobby George kind of leap and not the ‘one step at a time’ kind of approach will not be enough.
In fact, some of the dreams, which I’m living today, seemed to be requiring the same kind of leap, but I’m not conscious of making such a leap. The way I took to reach here is very hazy when I look back. Was it a gradual process or was it the snap of someone’s fingers that did the magic I really can’t say.
Still, in insomnia induced despondency, thoughts about euthanasia flash through the brain, probably because the impossibility of achieving more is gnawing inside. The vacuum inside never gets filled. Comments like “you’d be happy with yourself, look around people like you don’t even come out of their houses”, feel like pseudo.
P. S. I have understood that to maintain a blog successfully you should have led an interesting life (like my friends Alexis or BG), when I think of my childhood or early adulthood I recollect weird things like being made to stand in life size pit dug up in the garden with my legs tied with wooden splints and made to play cricket or being a virtual scarecrow with three of my limbs plastered for months to straighten them up when I was in my early-mid teens.
I don’t even have a strong opinion on Sanjay Dutt’s jail sentence and the eventual bail. Nor I can write a long post on Dravid’s decision to bat again (though I had told pappa to pray when he went to the temple next morning that Dravid doesn’t opt to bat again after taking the last wicket) in the last test against England.
P. P. S. The reason for the odd title is that my vocabulary was nil at the time this conversation happened, I was just beginning to feel the language and forming sentences that sometimes did not make sense. By the way, some of my friends still fight that they cannot understand a thing of what I say because my language is very poor. -:)
Today I am living few of my dreams. It is not as if I was always aware of this fact. It struck me when I went back by a few years to search the reason for my optimism and attitude to give it a try in the past. Maybe the act of dreaming is more pleasurable than realising those dreams and the effort of making them sustain forever. Attaining something that you never dared to think you could achieve but yet not being aware you are so close to your destination is funny, because it throws up the dreaded question: “What Next?” Dreaded because I know that the step is sure impossibility because it will require an Anju Bobby George kind of leap and not the ‘one step at a time’ kind of approach will not be enough.
In fact, some of the dreams, which I’m living today, seemed to be requiring the same kind of leap, but I’m not conscious of making such a leap. The way I took to reach here is very hazy when I look back. Was it a gradual process or was it the snap of someone’s fingers that did the magic I really can’t say.
Still, in insomnia induced despondency, thoughts about euthanasia flash through the brain, probably because the impossibility of achieving more is gnawing inside. The vacuum inside never gets filled. Comments like “you’d be happy with yourself, look around people like you don’t even come out of their houses”, feel like pseudo.
P. S. I have understood that to maintain a blog successfully you should have led an interesting life (like my friends Alexis or BG), when I think of my childhood or early adulthood I recollect weird things like being made to stand in life size pit dug up in the garden with my legs tied with wooden splints and made to play cricket or being a virtual scarecrow with three of my limbs plastered for months to straighten them up when I was in my early-mid teens.
I don’t even have a strong opinion on Sanjay Dutt’s jail sentence and the eventual bail. Nor I can write a long post on Dravid’s decision to bat again (though I had told pappa to pray when he went to the temple next morning that Dravid doesn’t opt to bat again after taking the last wicket) in the last test against England.
P. P. S. The reason for the odd title is that my vocabulary was nil at the time this conversation happened, I was just beginning to feel the language and forming sentences that sometimes did not make sense. By the way, some of my friends still fight that they cannot understand a thing of what I say because my language is very poor. -:)
