A dream keeps us moving ahead. And “hope springs eternal” in the human heart and says, my time will come.
“You did not go for a walk today?” Kanchan asked, on entering the house, seeing me sitting near the window which opened onto the road fronting our house.
From the window, I could see the labourers sauntering back from the tea kiosk towards the construction site, talking, and back-slapping, cracking lewd jokes and making digs at each other. Their boisterous voices travelled up to me, near the window, where I sat answering emails on my cell phone.
My ears continued to be riveted to their chatter which, was now, punctuated with boisterous laughter. “Aunty, aap game khel rahey ho? Suntey kyun nahi ho?” Kanchan stopped sweeping, to indulge in her favourite hobby. Talking.
Irritated by my monosyllables, she glared at me, her eyes reprimanding me for my churlish inhospitality of not lending her my ears. A firm believer in the dictum, ‘never a lender or a borrower be’, I have of course not been too tardy in listening to her incessant chatter (Come to think of it, do I have a choice?)
“Arrey, I am not playing any game, I am working.”
“Mera beta to export hai, game khelney mein.” (My son is an expert in game playing)
“Export nahin, expert,” I corrected her, still engrossed in sending e-mails.
“Arrey, wahi to keh rahi hoon. Export.” (I am saying exactly that)
“Okay. Okay, let me work.”
“Tell me just one thing.”
“Kya sapney lena galat baat hoti hai? (Is it wrong to dream?)
“No absolutely not.”
“I dreamt of having a kitchen of my own, and today, I am so happy. I wanted to put tiles in my kitchen, soon this will also be done.” She was chirping every now and then, stopping in her work to add more bits and pieces to her gurgling stream of conversation.
“Oh that is great! You should always dream and work towards the realisation of those dreams. Hold fast to your dreams, girl,” I added, remembering the words of Langston Hughes,
“Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.”
Snatches of conversation fell into my ears, as morning walkers passed my window. They were gesticulating and arguing loudly, each one of them, trying to make his point by thumping the air.
“Gully Boy was good, but not good enough to be an entry for the Oscar.” They were discussing India’s official entry to 92nd Oscar Awards.
“Article 15 was a better contender, I think.”
“But I loved their acting – that new guy – Siddhant Chaturvedi was too good.”
“If Gully Boy can be an entry for Oscars, why not Badhai Ho?”
“I really loved the picturisation of the song, apna time aayega.”
The group went away, still in the midst of a heated discussion on the rationale of Gully Boy’s selection as the Oscar entry.
“Madam, kuch bhi ho, apna time aayega – zarroor!” (My time will come, surely) Kanchan, who was also standing next to me, listening to their animated talk, suddenly quipped and raced towards the kitchen, only to come back, with her hands behind her back.
“Madam, vaisey aapka time bhi aa gaya,” (Your time has come) she paused dramatically and added, “Chai ka!” producing the cup with conjurer’s flourish, and dashed back towards the kitchen, grinning impishly. I took a sip of the sparkling tea, without losing time. After all, a stitch… er…sip in time saves nine. 🙂
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