Last night when i was getting back home from Mumbai, I fell asleep in the car. I saw a dream. In the dream i was solo travelling in a cold cold place. I knew not one face. I knew not a single direction. But it still felt like home. I know for sure, i saw snow. A lot of it. Under my feet, in my hands and as far as my vision could go. It was all white. The kind they show in movies like happy feet or ice age. I knew i wore black. All black. From my hair to my boots. I could see white mountains in front of me. It was freezing. I was freezing.
And then I turned around to a fire lit right outside a small cottage. Very simple, very plain. It didn’t have many elements, except for a few fairy lights, enough to brighten the cottage into a cozy little home, a bed and a few cozy layers of blankets. The bed was covered in white. And the windows had snow piled over its sill, around the frame. And right behind the fire was a man. He had two layers of jackets on him, a muffler and warm boots. He was tall and dusky and had wide shoulders. His eyes were a shade of deep brown, the kind that speak a thousand words without uttering them. The reflection of the fire only made his eyes shine brighter.
He had a vessel in his hand. I knew he was cooking something. He looked so content. Like he had everything that was needed in this world. Even with a small cottage, a place to light fire, a few jackets, a bed and some food, he looked content. He looked happy. I wanted to reach to him and talk to him. He looked like someone i could have a deep intellectual conversation with. But he also looked like someone i could play snow ball with.
I am a very observant person. My eyes reach the details of everything. So I stood there long enough for him to finish making his coffee. Staring at his long arms as they worked in pair with the fire. Long enough to see a young woman there. With breast length hair, black in color, long socks, a pair of gloves, a muffler and a big thick brown jacket. It wasn’t her jacket, I could say. She looked like she was floating in it. She had a petite figure with long fingers and hands curled softly around a very thin book. The man shifted his eyes every once in a while to glance a look at her.
I stepped ahead to have a closer look at her face. I wanted to know what face lit this man’s face up. So i stepped one big feet ahead and looked at her. And there I was, standing motionless. My feet froze to where they were before. I felt like I was stuck and my heart lost a beat perhaps. I was stunned. I didn’t understand.
She was me. How could I be both here and there. She was a spitting image of me. She was my reflection. A mirror image. Just with softer warmer hands and a smile so wide, I never saw on me.
My heart cried a tear or two. They looked content. Both of them. Like the world didn’t matter to them. Like they were only each others world. She read, while he made coffee on running wood fire. They both did their own thing, and at every interval they glanced at each other, they smiled, the kind of smile that widens the heart in you with affection.
My point is, isn’t it funny, how we run for things all our lives. A bigger house, a better bed, a city front view or a house near the mall. We earn for all that is materialistic. But I realized, while on a realistic front, these things are ‘wanted’, they are also the things that are not ‘needed’. I mean, think about the satisfaction you would get on waking up to mountains, cool breeze, a cup of hot coffee, books to read spread around your home walls, hot water, warm clothes and someone, just someone to share all this with. Is it always the big things that matter? aren’t the little moments, the cozier ones, that make us what we truly are?
I learnt, as I stood there looking at myself from a third’s eye, what being content really meant. I understood how much clean air, heavy mountains and the color white could bring peace to my existence. And I learnt, as I stood there, the reason why my eyes welled up. Once a man told me, “Why are you even doing the things you are doing? You are clearly not meant to be where you are. You are an old soul stuck in the 21st century. Free yourself. Stop being answerable to others. You are answerable to none other than yourself. Go live in the mountains, and be the inspiration you want to be. Stop ‘stopping’ yourself. Be free. Be you.” But the great irony here lays in the fact that, I have understood all of these things. I know exactly what I want. But do I have the courage to fly away to the world I have dreamt for myself? We all have dreams. But there is a catch here. And the catch is tagged ‘Responsibilities’, and I am on a journey to understand if I have the courage to walk the path my dreams take me to, if I am dauntless enough to walk the talk.
I urge you to ask yourself a little question – is this desperate need we all have for materialistic things, to fulfill our desires? Or do we strive toward all this just to look desirable to the outside world? Does it make any difference? To you? And to the ones around you? Do we all have the courage to walk the talk?