"Dream a little dream of me...."

The other day, on my way to work, I heard someone ask his friend the timeless question - how is life?

I quietly asked myself that question and phrases flashed in my head - oppressive heat, uninspiring work, alienation from familiarity, vague feeling all day everyday stemming from being a regular doormat.

Without warning, I was reminded of the dreams I've had of an 'ideal life'. Dreams that I've shared with different individuals at some point in my life of almost 22 years. Dreams that sometimes seem like some bizarre alternate reality.

I've always wanted to be a writer. A full-time writer. As a child I also wanted to be a musician, a singer and a dancer. Music and the written word are still very much the mainstays of my life. Sort of like the much romanticised first love, that one never forgets. Not writing for a considerable time makes me feel like something has congealed within me, as if the blood in my body isn't flowing as effortlessly as it usually does and absence of music just makes life so unbearably empty.

In my idealistic dreams, I'm a writer. A woman who walks around in those checked, knee length kurtas in muted colours and pure white pajamas (cotton-natural fabrics please). Hair piled up high and wearing my black-frame glasses, I sit at my desk in the afternoon, in my 'writing room' tucked away in a quiet corner of the house. I tap away at the keyboard, turning visual images into words on the screen while country music plays softly in the background.

My dog, Chenghiz, comes into the room once in a while and sits snuggled against my feet, his body warmth relaxing my tensed muscles. I take breaks in between, bending to scratch C behind the ears while thinking about how best to present an idea in words.

After a while, I get up to check on the sleeping forms of my twin little girls. One sleeps on her back, her arms and legs stretched out and mouth slightly open. The other looks at me with bleary, sleep-swollen eyes from where she lies on the bed, curled on her side. She reaches out to me and I sit cross-legged on the floor beside her, hold her plump little outstretched hand and hum quietly. Soon enough she drifts back to dreamland and I carefully tip-toe out of the room.

I walk out of the house, onto the simple porch and sit on a wooden bench, looking at the sea. The wind chimes fill the air with soft tinkling sounds. My attention is drawn away when C runs past me and chews on the little ones' latest painting project that was happily abandoned on the floor, for some other source of distraction.

When the kids wake from their siesta, they come to the kitchen, rubbing their eyes and wanting their respective wake-up hugs. All petting done, I busy myself readying their evening snack and milk. Little girl no 2 wants to be hauled up to the marble kitchen counter and gets her request gratified soon enough. Once settled on the table-top, she picks up a ladle and examines her reflection in it, making silly faces. Her hyperactive sibling chases C around the kitchen, attempting to ride on his back.


Later that evening, the family has dinner together. The twins, their father who has returned from work and I, exchange little details of the day while C tries laying his head on every alternate knee to get sympathy and a few extra scraps.

The kids run around,afterwards, with C, knocking things over once in a while. Their extremely proud father watches and shakes his head in mock exasperation. Soon, they're hastened to bed after they brush their teeth, kiss C, Daddy and Mommy goodnight. Daddy cuddles up with them till they fall asleep.

My husband then finds me, reading in our 'hideout', as he jokingly calls it. We talk about each other's day, small everyday gossips, relatives and their bizarre mannerisms. We laugh, share concerns and periodically admonish C to go to his 'basket-bed'. We eventually fall asleep, nestled against each other.

In the middle of the night, Little Girl no 1 loudly calls for 'Daddy-Mommy'. C trots into our room,as if to make sure we're making efforts to attend to the Princess' request. I shuffle my way to her side of the bed, pick up beloved Blanky, her inheritance from her father, off the floor and tuck her in under it with a soft 'Night-night,pumpkin'.

As I make my way back to bed, the father opens one eye to look at me. "Blanky?",he enquires,his voice thick with sleep. I reply in the affirmative. By the time I curl my free arm around him, he is snoring softly. I smile and close my eyes, trying to find my way back to dreamland, hoping Blanky doesn't fall off the bed again.


I've nurtured dreams of this kind of a life for a very long time, protecting it carefully like children carefully cupping little treasures with their delicate hands.
Dreams, I've come to realize, might just be the only things that keep people going in this dreary world.

Dream a little dream by Beautiful South

Stars shining bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper I love you
Birds singing in the sycamore tree
Dream a little dream of me

Say nighty-night and kiss me
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me
While I'm alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me

Stars fading, but I linger on dear
Still craving your kiss
I'm longing to linger till dawn dear
Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave our worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me
......