Dreamz.

The dream was recurrent. And always the same. She was  sitting on a mountaintop.  There were mountains all around her. A huge wall of them,  like sentinels.  They were mighty, and made her feel minor and humble in comparison. What scared her, was that in the past few weeks she had been looking forward to seeing the dream. Feeling the peace and isolation of the mountains, and wishing herself away from city life.

Wishing away the ring that glinted on her finger and reminded her, that she had promised someone the rest of her life. And passion, and sympathy, and interest.  And her true involvement, in life and its associated functions.

Though  her functions as a human being didn’t suffer, she knew that somewhere, her mind had moved into auto pilot mode. Things were happening, jobs being done, without her really getting into the nitty gritties.  Nor were feelings being expended…. No problem… till she saw a shadow of hurt in his eyes.

Maybe, that was what  had prompted her to make a few calls.  And wait in an Irani restaurant , with a cup of too sweet tea before her.  She was waiting for some answers, and a man. When he came through the door,  she had to make an effort to quell the uneasiness that rose within her.  Coming face to face with the past is always tough. In this case, since it wasn’t her own past,  she was aware of the fine line she was treading.

He sat down facing her.  He would always be Uncle to her. She greeted him using that word, never wondering about the lack of a formal relationship. He seemed older, paunchier, and yet his smile was as open as it used to be, his handshake, as heartening, as she remembered.

Her memories, of him were of a man who tended the land. He’d been an army man who never seemed at home in army garb. Somehow, his linen shirts and khaki trousers, that he favoured in his farming seemed more natural. It had seemed natural, that along with growing food and exotic crops, he would grow a plot of sunflowers and roses.  Just for the colour and smell. She wished, she could narrow it down to that, smell, touch, colour, taste….and yet, so much of her life was artificial, and the needs that she professed were her own.

“ How’re things with you?” He asked, really curious, and a bit uneasy too. It had been a long time, since they had met.

Things had not been too good with her the past year. Her mother had passed away and her father was showing every sign of his inherited Alzheimer’s.

“ Fine, I’m getting married”. She smiled, automatically, as she accepted his congratulations  which she knew were heartfelt. With him, one could be sure, he had no hidden agendas, or facades. Something she had always loved, but now, it irritated her. She pulled out the packet from her purse. It was a wedding invitation. He opened it. The design reminded him of the cards that were designed back in his day. The words inside, hit him hard.

“ This is  unfair,” he said.

“ I know, but I had no alternative. “  She picked  up her mobile,  not wanting to look  him.

But he would have none of it. He insisted on looking into her eyes and telling her what she dreaded, the truth. Some truths, are for oneselves, they help  make one better, stronger. Some truths are better left unsaid, and then there  is the category, which needs confirmation. As it seems so unbelievable, unacceptable…totally foreign to one’s thoughts and feelings.

She didn’t need to know the truth about her parents ever, she had seen it and lived with them. They were happy enough, with flashes of real love.  She did wonder, what would have happened, if the words on the invitation card had come true and her mother had married this gentle voiced man. Or was it a truth, that she didn’t need to know?

“You should know, that she was a lovely person. And I always wished the best for her.”

That she’d known, as a child. He’d been  a part of their lives. Helped at parties, been the guiding force of vacations, at his farm. He’d taught them  to do things that no one teaches a  city kid, but which someone nourish the soul . Even much later.

“I still remember how much fun it was, growing those seed melons”. She  hesitated, because now, was the difficult part .  Could she tell him of her dream?

“ I’ve been thinking of going back to nature,  myself” He looked at  her quizzically. She was the one, who cribbed most as a child for city comforts, and wanted her favourite meals, while her siblings snacked on organic, homegrown stuff.  Besides, she always chose the lightest tasks, so she wouldn’t get calloused hands.

He lit a cigarette. She looked at his hands, strong, capable, and wondered why he had never cradled his own children in them.

“Didn’t you  ever want to get married? I mean, later…” She faltered, at his level look. It wasn’t any of her business, but she could recall the feeling of aloneness in the dream. It had seemed so comforting, not having to worry about another  person,  or thing. It had seemed almost selfish, that kind of solitude.

“No “. He didn’t elaborate, and she had the feeling that was as far as he would indulge her.  Still , she had to try.

“Don’t you feel, you should have married, passed on your fine qualities, you know, kept a bit of yourself, forever?”

“Nothing lasts forever, not even our memories. Besides, I don’t mind being forgotten. I wanted to live a particular way, and it didn’t seem fair to force that on another.”   He took the next few drags in silence.

“I’m sorry, I’ve had this misplaced feeling, that you could have been my father, so I wanted to…” She waited, for his response.

“ I’m not your father.  But I do know why we are having this conversation.  So tell me.”

She had hoped to ask him questions. Turned out, that she had all the answers.

The dream was recurrent. And always the same. She was sitting on a mountaintop. There were mountains all around her.   A huge wall of them, like sentinels. They were mighty and made her feel safe, like  a welcome respite, once in a while.