Dreams… integral part of our lives... As a child we loved to dream… still we do…As a child I wished I could get myself transformed into female phantom (wow… that’s quite a dream I must say!) And have my own world full of animals. Tree house… golden beach… I will have the dolphins … Solomon and Nefertiti as my friends… I will ride on hero and have devil-the mountain wolf as my friend on the way…the animals will take me to be their lord... and love me like one of them...
Childhood imaginations you may say… they transformed into some realistic ones as I grew up (did I really!!)…
I wished to learn kathak once for all over again… I wished to learn synthesizer…. I wished to learn violin…I long to learn French…(don’t know why though!) I crave to own a flower boutique one day…I yearn to learn pottery … I wish to be a zookeeper… attending those baby panda or baby antelopes… cuddling them up… feeding them…their supple feel will give me the taste of 7th heaven… how much I wish… how much I crave…
as years roll by... we forget our dreams...our reality takes a toll over us... though a few are fresh in mind as hidden desires... the rest… just gone …
That’s called growing up... that’s what THEY call maturity...(though neither I have the wish to grow up nor be matured!) but I call it nothing but strangling our dreams and imaginations to death...
The first step of getting rationale was our ability to dream and imagine… eventually we kill our dreams... we unknowingly kill our love. The very root of our existence…
But even if we cease to exist … we never die… dreams die…
As the saying goes from
The Ballad Of Reading Gaol" by Oscar Wilde :
"Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die….
"Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die….
N.B: All over again... that voice... whispered in my ears... "Sanhita... study work enjoy. Get Success. Realise your “that” one dream. But Live those childhood dreams as well ... that’s what makes you …YOU... that’s what makes Sanhita. The sanhita I knew never knew of the word quit... She was a fighter... you have to... and I know you will... you will live those dreams which may seem weird and insignificant to others... but those make you... go after it... I am with you... "
And again... as always…I know... I have to... coz that’s what makes me myself…
