It is not just the physical mass a Mumbai local carries, but also, and more importantly, the emotions. Take a look around in a local compartment, you will see every person engrossed in their emotions, be it despair, disappointment or dreams. You can see it in their eyes, hint of the story rolling behind. One such story is of Priya.
Wearing a red jersey, red shorts, white shoes and hair neatly tied in a ponytail, Priya sat gorging on the pulao made by her mom and chatting with her as if they hadn’t talked for ages.
Priya: “Then I will be as famous as Sania Mirza”
Mom: “Of course beta, for representing India like her, you need to clear district, state and national level matches”
Priya nodded and said, “After that I will be a superstar!”
Mom gave another smile and continued. It struck me, I haven’t dreamed so innocently and fearlessly since forever. Priya and I could have been nine years apart. For me dreams are no longer just those pure thread of thoughts. They are much more refined and at the mercy of three demons. Demons of practicality, logistics and capability.
A dream is crushed if these demons are not satisfied. Many a times the three demons choke a delicate dream even before it has a chance to bud. Priya, unaware of these demons, boldly declared her dream leaving the demons to be tackled later. This made demons inside me uncomfortable as it made them realize that they really are not superior to a dream. That they had to mould themselves for the dream.
Priya loved playing handball. Her team had lost that day and was out of the tournament. But this fact didn’t allow the demons to slay her dreams. She let her dream fly, like a free butterfly. And the butterfly although innocuously fluttering its wings, was bolting at the speed of a train.
JANUARY 25, 2015