You May Say...

This is from the very beginning in dedication to John Lennon. And it's not because I credit him with teaching the world to dream, rather it is to fulfil the formality of making a dedication because i just felt like giving one. So we were talking about dreams, for those who dont know where did the dream part suddenly came from, the title of this post is the beginning of the famous line from the more famous Lennon song, Imagine; 'You may say I am dreamer, but i am not the only one...'

Thus coming back to dreams, i want to tell you that this is not even about dreams in particular. This actually is about two guys, who dreamed.

It is an engineering college somewhere in the heart of Uttar Pradesh. On the sandy banks of the river Gomati, which has the honor of being one of the most polluted river in India, is a 25 year old engineering college. Its hallowed classroom walls have seen many academic theories being questioned and proved on the blackboards, while some more visually interesting but not-so-academic theories scribbled graphically on the desk tops.

Some hundred meters away on the either side of the yellow and red and white academic block, are the hostels. Boys on one side, Girls on the other. The river bends just outside the Hostel boundary walls. And when the evening sun sets into the grey glimmer scattering orange in the sky, one can absorb the vanilla sky from the railings of the crumbling terrace of the Boys hostel.

It is one of these evenings and you can see these two on the roof. One leans on the banister, supporting his head on his elbows, the other looks into the horizon at the last chunk of the dipping sun. The blue has truned grey, while the Venus lazily shines on the far side. Light bulbs start appearing in the village across the river. While the evening plays its natural symphony, they both talk about their lives after the BTech. Their lives as they dream it.

Somewhere both of them get animated, their nonverbals dominating the voices. But then like in many conversations the ebb occurs, and then there is a sudden sullen silence. The time it takes for the arguments to realise theiw own folly and slowly sink to the bottom of cognizance. Then there are hardly any words. The silence is broken by the trucks that ply on the road that runs at a perpendicular some 100 meters away from where they stand. And below them the mess workers have started laying out the plates and bowls for the dinner. A night wind has started blowing, and with it the dry leaves billowing on the rooftop start their own distorted symphony.

Then one of them looka at the watch and asks the other, 'shall we go down?'. The impasse is broken, they walk back to the edge and hop to the wing gallery, and then to their rooms. The dreams may have gone to sleep for a while. But they are there still, waiting for their time. And hoping that they do not stagnate into being what they are.

But now is the time for dinner.

(Started writing this post on 5th Jan, tonight it finds it's place. Another dream perhaps...)