THE BOY WITH THE DREAM

4

“Dad, when did you realize that mom is the one for you?” I asked chewing on the food in my mouth as I pointed my fork in-between father and mother who was busy scrolling through their phones, maybe in search of something significant. My mother raised her head from the plate she was digging in moments ago and smiled―a shy kind of smile stretched the plump lips to the very end ―might be reminiscing the rendezvous she had had with father. I waited for her to answer instead as she always does, but this time she did not comment neither did father. They simply stared at each other conversing with eyes.

“Was there a light above her shoulder that helped you recognize that she is your soul mate or was it a random shot?” I urged, looking straight at my father across the table. 

It was another lay evening when I was enjoying supper with my family. We―I, my parents, and Duligo, a puddle of the age three has formed a happy family. My grandparents had passed away a decade ago cutting the numbers or we’d be one of those traditional joint families the Indian residents watch in daily drama serials on Star Plus excluding drama. 

“Are you seeing someone?” Mom questioned out of nowhere making me choke on food. I coughed a little, flabbergasted at her direct question, nonetheless replied with a firm no. I told her that I was just curious and that I wanted to know about it for I was reading the Wuthering Heights and it would help to relate the fiction with feelings.

“There was no specific moment that could be named ‘The moment’.” Said father castrating a sweet look at my mother who blushed. “I just knew that I had to have her or there would be no meaning for my existence. It is unexplainable.” He paused giving me time to ponder over his explanation.

“It was this pull that I felt every minute after I had met her that my heart used to somersault at every sight of her. I had started imaging her as a part of my life―cooking in the kitchen, helping my mother, taking care of the house, and me. There were all sorts of fantasies involved and then something happened that I could not point out the difference between dreams and reality. There was this urge to make it all my reality.” He stopped speaking, only to gaze at my mother lovingly, and there it happened again. My dream of experiencing something as serene as ‘their kind of romance’ became firm again.

“Did Mom agree at the first shot or you had a chase?” I teased mother, making her curl up in shyness, but she covered it up with a forced glare.

“We had issues! My family was an orthodox―a typical Indian family. Dad was against our love affair. There were all sorts of values and traditions involved. Her family denied giving me her hand; they feared rejection and security of their daughter’s future. There were drama and pressure of mishappenings nonetheless, we united. Then you happened and father accepted us with open arms.”

There was silence on the table as I contemplated it for a while. I was fascinated with my parent’s courage for standing up with each other despite having all the odds against them and winning at the end. It somehow made me compare it with my story―only if I had any.

“Dad!”

“Yes, son.”

“Dad, what is love? How do people fall in love? What gives them the strength to fight? I meet dozens of couples every week. There are people who change their companion like clothes and treat the previous one like trash and then there are some, like you both, who are ready to bend hell just to be with each other. How can love differ from person to person? It gives strength. It becomes a weakness. What exactly is love?”

“Love is simple. Love is unique yet it is complexities of complexes. We often think that we are in love when all we cherish is infatuation. We must never forget that spiritual experience is above all a practical experience of love. When we love someone, we love their whole being and not just their appearance. Moreover, with love, there are no rules, no ideology. It is the plain truth, an acceptance of how we are, and what the other person is. Some may try to control their emotions and develop strategies for their behavior so they could impress them; others may turn to read books of advice from ‘experts’ on relationships or consider using other people’s experience but this is all folly. The heart decides, and what it decides is all that really matters. It’s final.” Dad said, his eyes fixed afar as if in deep thought as he made circles on the plate using his fork.

“Love may make you suffer at one point, so much that it will seem like it is impossible to keep going. Ultimately, there is no good reason for our suffering, for in every love lies the seed of our growth and growing up always hurt. The more we love, the closer we come to our soul that is connected with the soul of the universe. When we love with open heart, we meet the precise we who is not even close to the one we are in this material world. Those who are truly enlightened, those whose souls are illuminated by love, have been able to overcome all of the inhibitions and preconceptions of their era. They have been able to sing, to laugh, and to pray aloud; they are free―because those who love, conquer the world and have no fear of loss. True love is an act of total surrender. You surrender your whole being to your companion without asking anything in return.” It was a mother who completed what Dad was trying to explain. Her eyes were moist when she looked up from her plate and glanced at father, the eyes were damp with love and devotion, and out of nowhere, I felt a desire to experience the saintliness offered by love with equal compassion. 

The winter air chilled my ears and cheeks, as it brought few droplets of water along with it. That night was one of the best nights of my life, now that it had invoked a spark in my heart forming a picture of its own it had become all the more special―however vague the picture maybe, it was recognizable. 

I recalled the time when I had walked Sonia home a week ago and our conversations in between ran in my ears. It was melodious and soothing. It was making more sense than ever before and the contentment made me happy. Sonia was uncomfortable, it was apparent, however, she did not deny my advances for she neither assented it nor pushed me away. I never, for once, felt like a stranger. There was always something more to discuss, to laugh, to dance. It was a tone matching with the rhythm of my heartbeats making my soul swirl.

I could still remember the night like it all happened yesterday. The whole week of thinking unrealistic imaginations and fantasy had provoked it further, blowing up my brain and thinking capacity. I craved to experience it all again and again. I wanted it to become never-ending. 

Nodding at my parents, I stood up and searched my way to my room―my warm cocoon. My heart was heavy as if I had experienced something world-changing. I felt agitated at my incompatibility in figuring things out. There was nothing in me, but there was everything in her. I wanted to see her again, feel her presence again, and hear her voice―I wanted to be with her again. 

I had no school after that night―an emergency was declared in the town given to the excessive rainfall. All the transportation within the city had been blocked for the continuous rainfall in the week. 

The solitude had given me ample time to think, think, and think. I was still not over Sonia, her overwhelming presence, and her mesmerizing beauty. Her slow calculated steps, her soaked attire, her nervousness, and that scared look on her face whenever the clouds roared thunders had stolen my heart. Everything about her was so beautiful. She was like a blooming flower and I was a bee, hovering over and doing nothing.

I smiled as I recalled her timid expressions when she told me about her family is very strict. She had smiled at me when she said that she loved her parents the most out of all the people. She panicked, thinking her delay in return would worry her family and that she would be bombarded with loads of questions over her late return. I remembered her words, expressions, and gestures like trigonometry formulas. (I am a mathematics student) Her melodious voice was still ringing in my ears.

For the first time in my whole student life; I was disappointed with the holidays. For the moment, I wanted nothing more to see the beauty with her pink glasses again.