Jaded
Dreams
Varun was pushing people and following the trail
through the serpentine corridors of the Grand Bazaar, Istanbul- he was
following the lady in brown. Varun had never been to Istanbul and the place was
new for him, he had only been in the bazaar for a couple of minutes, admiring
it when he was distracted by high pitched voices behind him; two shopkeepers
were quarreling over some American customers when suddenly he saw her.
He had only one thought at the moment- to save his
damsel in distress, the lady inn brown. But when Varun abruptly turned to dodge
a pillar and a few people beside it; he lost balance and tumbled over near a
spice shop.The shopkeeper was vaunting about best spices which were kept in his
shop, he looked down and his eyes met Varun’s-
Shopkeeper: Take spices? Best spices in Istanbul…Evet?
Varun: I am sorry, I am searching for a particular
lady in a brown outfit, did she by any chance crossed this way?
Shopkeeper: Evet, effendi- she went over there;
The shopkeeper pointed to the tall, majestic Topkapi
palace which was not far away from the Bazaar. Varun took a taxi and told the
driver to reach the Topkapi Palace as soon as possible, and while going Varun
caught a glimpse of the Hagia Sophia, the Basilica cistern. He had always
wanted to go to Istanbul- but time was running out and Varun Patel would have
to save his lady from danger. ‘But why was she running away?’- Like always he
could not comprehend why; Varun would never have thought that this action would
eventuate into such catastrophic results.
#Excerpts
from my diary#
“Varun was a dear friend of mine- well I’m telling
was as he was a good friend, not now. My friend Varun Patel had the most
amazing ability in the world; to go to places in his dreams. It started with the
incident in the park- one day when we’re about twelve or thirteen we went to
the park in our locality where we used to spend the lazy summer afternoons
playing or sometimes doing nothing. That day Varun was acting kind of strange
and I still remember he got himself in a fight with Shyamal, who also used to
come play with us. Following the quarrel Varun went mad (we did not know what a
fit looked like) and started digging the ground, making lacerations over quite
an area of the park. It stopped when his mother rushed and took control of the
scene. After the incident Varun openly stated his power to dream and go to
places where we never imagined would go! How are these two incidents connected?
Ask Varun, not me. Well I forgot to introduce myself in the process- I am a bad
narrator, my name Biswadeep Ghosh Hazra (quite a mouthful huh?), my friends
call me ‘Biswa’- quite cooler than the predecessor no? Coming back to the
story...”
*College
(Yes! We were in the same college, and you thought you were unlucky-)*
Varun:
She jumped from the roof of Topkapi Palace!
Me:
Who? Where? Why?
Varun:
My damsel in distress! She jumped and died, but why?
Me:
Well she chose a better option than being with you…
Varun:
I am running out of places to dream! She was signaling me something-
Me:
Jumping off the roof is a signal?
The
last sentence was like an excipient to Varun as he leapt off the desk and ran…
#Excerpts
from my diary#
“Firstly no one ever believed him and thought him to
be a hardcore liar but for a lower middle class like Varun’s he could not go to
the Fiji islands, or see the Big Ben, or Machu Pichu, or Washington D.C,
Pennsylvania, Mexico, or even Taj Mahal- he had seen all and gave an exact
description of everything. Internet could be an option but Varun neither owned
a laptop nor a desktop and there were people who were constantly spying on him-
he even went to cyber café in our locality for a countable number of times- but
I believed him, for he was a good guy from heart and a psycho too, but he was
good at heart.
He preferred
to call himself the ‘Hakawati’- the legendary storyteller from the Arabia who
engrossed his listeners so much with his stories that many a people died
listening to the continuous stream of stories which he spun instantly, people
also went mad if he stopped for a second. “‘Hakawati’ is a spirit you see,” he
used to tell me and it devoured all his listeners’ soul to satisfy his hunger;
honestly I thought he made that up. I never liked him, and always treated him
with contempt- maybe because he was different from the others or maybe people
(including me) thought him mad, but he always stuck to me like a leech sucking
my patience away.
Whenever I saw Varun Patel surrounded by animated,
excited and jaw dropped listeners all around, a wave of goodness rushed inside
of me and I knew Varun not only possessed a good heart but better story telling
capability as well.But Varun was running out of places to visit”
*College*
Varun: I am running out of places to visit!!!
Me: You can try interstellar sometimes!
Varun (with a matter of factly voice): I’m going to
die there, you idiot!
Me: You are dreaming, man!
Varun (Sighing): If I die in my dreams, I die…
I wished at that moment a tsunami would wash me
away, for Varun had mentioned this couple of days earlier- I forgot as usual. Varun
thought we shared a platonic relationship- which we didn’t obviously.
*Five
years later*
Varun died unexpectedly- and I had moved on since
then. I’m married now and do a shitty job at a software company. There is no
adventure at all in life, not even a single molecule of it. Though I have held on to my diary writing, I
seldom get anything to write upon- repeating the same thing day after day.
#Excerpts
from my diary#
3:32
am
“I noticed a strange thing today, today was our
first movie anniversary (Oh, you don’t know my wife!) And she was dressed ditto
like Varun’s lady in brown! I would have not paid heed to the matter- but
something happened tonight when I slept. As a child I was afraid of heights but
always wanted to go to the top of Eifel tower and take a glance at the city of
love. I saw a dream tonight, and my childhood dream was fulfilled and what was
an added surprise- Varun Patel himself. He was there where he loved to be the most,
in his dreams and beside me.”
©Copyright Protected© Biswadeep
Ghosh Hazra
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