The City of Dreams

I had made into the city, a bag of clothes; a will to persevere with no dreams whatsoever.  I was out on the streets roaming around with no clear goal. The light’s my source of inspiration, the chaos in the city- music to my ears, the smell- my food, the sea breeze-my refresh moment. Every face unknown, unfamiliar, yet had a bit of apnaapan in it. The old buildings were my getaway spots when the monsoon struck, when the sun was at its best it was the marine drives- The city presented to me in a way I wanted it to. I was being a part of it bit by bit, part by part. During Dasara it was the temples that fed me, Ramzan it was the flavorsome biriyanis at the mosque and during Christmas it was the churches. I was devoid of any relations to the things that mattered to a common man. I was in search of a life, a dream that the city had promised me as I left my own. A dream of a better me, a goal to bring in a change within me and around. I was quite lost in the fast moving, unparallel, inexhaustible, unfamiliar world until the day I met a man quite similar to me, but with an experience of the city. He was a man with no name; an old man in his 80’s but claims to have lived since the city was born. He knew everything from Haji Ali to Almeida, Haji Mastan to Varadarajan, Amitabh to Shah Rukh- he was never short of a story to tell.  He always carried a fishing net, but I never saw him catch any fish. His hair and beard looked like salt and pepper, a pinch of pepper.  He walked very slowly carrying on his bulky body around, one step at a time, cautious about the mark he left on the city. He wouldn’t speak much but when he did he left a mark on people. It did the same to me; I still remember the days I spent with him because it left an everlasting mark on me and made me what I am today. The day I met him, the journey I took with him into the city and when it was over he vanished in thin air and never showed up.

“What are you doing here?” the old man asked me, net on his shoulders, a cup of chai in his hand and staring right into my eyes.

“I’m here to… work”, I said nervously, because the old man gave me the creeps. His face was unfamiliar and unknown. Old man with such a rough and stern voice and I was quite terrified by the city itself.

“Work, what work??” he asked loudly by placing the cup beside on the table, he was sitting. There was thud and the table shook a bit. I was shaken too.

“Doing whatever I can, learning things around and trying to blend into the city in search of a dream”. I said with a bit of confidence after the thud.

“Dream?? You’re searching for a dream? Did you come here for that? Didn’t you find it when you were sleeping”, the old man laughed loudly that it echoed hitting something very very far away. It felt like the whole city might have heard it. “You’re in search of your dream, that’s the most foolish thing I’ve heard”

“Yes, the dream that I want to live” trying to ignore the laugh he had given a few seconds ago because it had reverberated into the whole city.

“That’s so selfish, ’I’m here to find my dream’. Most selfish thing I’ve heard. You could have asked yourself and found the answer. Most selfish thing, leaving things behind just to find your dream and live for yourself”

“No”

“No?”

“Dream…”

“What dream??”

“I want to find my dream that would change the way people think. I don’t know how to do it. I came to this city, because I knew it would shelter my dream and shape it, if I look hard in the right places”

“City of dreams, huh!! It doesn’t exist. It’s all a well cooked story, my friend. It doesn’t exist”

“I know it does and you know too”

“Do you know at least what you want to do?”

“No”

“Then what are you talking about bringing a change in the way people think if you haven’t thought how to go about it”

“Every day I think, try hard, put my brains into work and try to put my heart into it. But there is no sync in any of these things. I’ve realized the only way to do is to write what I feel, but I’m not good at it though”

“If you’re not good at it, be good at it”

“I’m a bit skeptical. What if I end up not liking it?”

“You’re selfish. How will you know if you don’t try it? You’ve made it till here, the city of dreams or whatever- I don’t know whether it exists or doesn’t. But you can build one yourself right from here”

“How??” the man was putting light into my path, I thought.

There was glow in his face that brightened as I spoke more and more to him. I had goosebumps, it moved from my shoulders, hands, legs and terminated at the toe. Every hair stood erect, when he said “Come with me to the City of Dreams”

I followed him as he walked by the shore cautious about every step he took; worried about the mark he left. He walked slowly, but it was fast for an 80 year old.  We walked and walked, by the sea enjoying the wind and he didn’t speak a word, I didn’t question. I thought that he was just bluffing, but I followed. He stopped at a place and pointed at an old house.

“Look at that house. A man lives there, he’s a teacher. Go and tell him so and so person sent me here. Give him this”, he gave me a letter. “Don’t open it, just give it to him. He’ll make you realize your dream and pursue it”

He stood behind the tree,, but he could be seen even from far away. His bulky body couldn’t be hidden. The breeze kept on refreshing my mind and I became more and more curious with every step I took, “What was in the letter?” So I opened it.

Son,

This is my last wish, Do something for others. You have been selfish all throughout your life and have lost so many close to you while doing that.

“This is his son and he’s writing a letter to him as if he’ dead”, weird old guy, but he was doing it for my dream, so I didn’t judge him further. The house looked pretty old, older than the old man. The white wash had turned brown; the trees had dried off in the backyard dropping and its leaves all around- yellow, brown on the ground and some green left on the tree. The stairs and red oxide flooring all covered with dust and I pressed the ringer which also left a mark of my finger on it, dust again. Washed it on my trousers which was the only one I had, making it into this city. A man in his mid fifties opened up, wearing a white kurtha which was way above his size. He was lean and had thick glasses and asked with a slow voice, “What do you want??”

I gave him the letter carrying a blank expression on the face.

“Where did you get this? Is this some kind of a joke??” he said angrily.

“Calm down. My father and your father were friends”, I just made that up and went along with it. “They were schoolmates and when he died he gave him this letter and when my father was ill, he gave this to me and said you were the best one who could help me dream and achieve it”

“What dream??”

“Dream of expressing my ideas, emotions through words”

“You want to learn to write?”

“Not exactly, I want to learn to express my ideas”

“Ok, you’re in the right place. Come back tomorrow”

“That’s your son”, I asked the old man in shock.

“You read the letter??” he looked at me with suspicion.

“No”, I said with a stress and just to cover that up “He read it to me”, in a cool way.

“Ok”

“Then, is he your son?”

“No, it’s like I said, I know every story of this city. Every person, every house- I just use those stories to fulfill people’s dreams”

“Ok”, I wasn’t convinced by his explanation.

“Get on your dream wagon, if you need me- meet me at the chai shop by the sea”

Days went by, months passed- things were changing. The city of dreams was looking different by the day. Unfamiliar faces became familiar and the familiar became fainter. The impatience had become a part of me and the old man, my story teller. He was never short of a story and his “son” gave direction to those stories and was making my dream come true. Day by day, I wrote letter by letter, word by word what I thought about the City of Dreams, about the people, the stories I heard, the places I saw, the breeze I experienced, the food I ate, the smell of the sands- I just went on. I wrote something for the first time, a complete work and went to old man with it after approving it from his “son”, who said, “My work is done, now you’re out on your own”

The old man sat with his chai by the sea as I presented a part of my dream that I had achieved, my first work-

Sapno ki nagri, the city of dreams- the city which has had bloodshed in its streets and the glitter and glamour of Bollywood, the struggle, the growth, the ups and downs and it never stops. The city is an experience for every newcomer and life for the experienced. The fast growth of the city, the impatience of every person gets on to you, the honks, the overtakes and the around takes (only in Mumbai, a specialty of rickshaws and trust me it’s not overtaking from the wrong side), Mumbai moves on at the speed of light and you can’t be just sound, because then light would take all the attention while you remain in the background. The unfamiliar faces tells a story, an old man driving a rickshaw telling his stories over his fight for the right, mid-age driver listening to tragic stories on the radio, student takes around with his loud music around the city and yet makes me feel safe touching 100- the city is versatile. Mumbai can be termed as an oxymoron, impatiently calm. The local trains giving you a feel of the trust this city he has, if you listen properly, you can hear it. People might not trust other but they trust the city. Everyone has their own Bollywood moments, it might be the quietness in the local trains or the drive in the sea link, walk on the Marine drive or the Vada-Pav, Selfie at the Bachchan Residence or at Mannat- the city never stops. The inexhaustible variety, the struggle towards a dream, a dream in their eyes is sheltered by the city, taken care of. City never disappoints you; it always has a solution- it might be presented to you in any way possible. It has learnt patience amidst the chaos; the city has courage to move on after every fall and has learned to trust each other with a common goal to move on.  Now why am I here in this city? Am I here to live my dream? Am I already living the dream or yet to realize it? What’s my dream? Can the city extract it out of me?

“It’s not complete”, he said, gave it back to me and walked away towards the sea. I looked at the paper and kept thinking what was missing in it and then I looked up. The old man walked on the sand leaving a mark, he wasn’t worried much about the mark he left and the mark became fainter as he walked away and vanished into thin air. I had realized then,

The city had extracted it from me. The city presented itself to me, the city of dreams. It was a bit tough on me at the beginning, at every step and then every step became easier and clearer. It presented itself to me when I was in dire need of it and showed me the path-The path to my dreams…