dreams unplugged...

You are walking down some stairs...It's the longest ever stairway u have ever seen in your life. It's also the highest one you have ever been to. But the stairs don't have an end and whenever you peep down the railing to get a look at how close u r to the earth, you end up knowing that there is absolutely nothing but a large number of stairs again. You continue walking but they finish only at the ringing of your alarm clock. You wake up to realize you were dreaming. Although you have seen these scenes recur in your mind for ages, you still get anxious every time you experience them....

 welcome to dreams....

wt are dreams? - 

"a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep.

"the sleeping state in which this occurs;

an object seen in a dream.;

an involuntary vision occurring to a person when awake;

a vision voluntarily indulged in while awake; daydream;  reverie; "
 that's how  a regular dictionary defines it

many of us have such wierd dreams...funny...at tyms intimidating...phobia -creating... .
They occur often .. is there reoccurence got some meanin associated to our lives? 
well if logically sought, dreams are thoughts that succeed in conquering our minds over the sleep....at tyms they  also help us sense what is unseen or invisible  to the eyes....

 The earliest recorded dreams were acquired from materials dating back approximately 5000 years, in Mesopotamia, where they were documented on clay tablets. In the Greek and Roman periods, the people believed that dreams were direct messages from the gods, or from the dead and that they predicted the future. Some cultures practised dream incubation with the intention of cultivating dreams that are prophetic.




Sigmund Freud explained dreams were manifestations of our deepest desires and anxieties. During sleep, dreams would manifest childhood repressed memories and obsessions.
 And then there are few people who even maintain 'dream dairies'....

I see different types of spaces in dreams...there are mostly corners in which i m stuck....n unable to get out...then there are also dreams of windows...the windows in my dreams keep dashing on the frames due to the wind...bt i cn neither stop the winds nor m i able to close the windows...they keep banging and their sounds becum rhythemic to my breaths...

I meet wierd people in ma dreams...faces which i have never seen before...  they speak a lot....and when i try speaking....i lose my voice...i cant  utter a word... nd if u  try enough,u actually utter it in life,(outta sleep or sleep talk).....
 And then...there is also this amazing thing called 'dejavu' ....u see things for the first tym in life n stil find them familiar....many-a-times  u have seen them in your dreams..which means u hav visited those places,met those people and indirectly expirienced it all in dreams , way before u actually did it in real life.

Cloudy Affair

He was quiet and lil anxious that day.
All his life, the only comfort & affection he had ,was for the clouds. I would see him gazing at them. All  dawns,mornings,noons,evenings and even at the nights. To him ...the white furry creatures meant the world...

Now,after having grown to the 88th year of his life... he prefers sitting back in his crackling chair...gazing at his most beloved (& only) belongings....CLOUDS
Clouds remind him of his mother.Their white fur is as soft as her touch.Their color resembles her moods.
Dark grey- when she used to be angry, blue-when she lovingly planted a kiss on his cheek n fed him milk and rice, clear white skies brought back the fragrance of the beautiful mogra flowers she wore in her hair, pink was always for the candy floss she bought for him  and bright yellows were as special as her favorite yellow cotton saree.
As a young kid he would talk to the skies.He would talk to them as he would with any other relative or friend around , or for that matter would be even more vocal about his feelings...for he knew,they belonged to his mom and that they would never hurt him,no matter what happened...He had mentioned everything to them.Right from his first crush in school,bad exams,ragging by seniors,the new hot English teacher in the high school and the way she said "quiet" with a little wink.He had narrated all the confusion he had had over choosing a course for the college, the chase for the perfect job, his girlfriends (out of which one turned into his wife),his kids,their kids..everything ,EXCEPT that thing..that one secret he swore not to share even with his shadow.
 That one thing which could grab away his ONLY belongings.That thing which he learned the night his mom breathed her last.That thing which was said by his father to him,before he left him at the gates of the boarding school.And it wasn't that easy for him to know that he was never a SON to his mother.That he was picked as was found unclaimed in the hospital where his mom nursed. He didn't want to believe this secret. And so he decided not to share it with his skies.

BUT that night he was  my grandpaa and also my best friend,with whom i shared every secret of mine & he did the same.He had to share it with me.The skies by then had began pouring like never before.It seemed like all his conversations with the clouds deciphered in the form of droplets and let his feelings go. They spoke what his eyes couldn't in all those years......For once he chose a new mate for his keepsakes......

Future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of there dreams....

We had a very unstable life, shifting from one town to the other as my mother as well as father were government service professional. At an early age of twelve, I left our beloved native Dombivali (a suburban area in Mumbai) and shifted to Nasik. Nasik was then surrounded by the most amazing and beautiful natural spaces. It meant a life away from the day-to-day slipping away fast life of Mumbai.No crowded places,no dirty local trains..just loads and loads of trees.
The place, the culture, the atmosphere-everything was new to me. But it didn’t take me more than a month to adjust myself to the locality in which we successfully secured a well-maintained resale flat along with a posh neighborhood. The block right next to ours’ was occupied by an ever-friendly family of four, the Kulkarnis. Mr. and Mrs. Kulkarni stayed there along with their elder son Ninad and the younger kid Ragini. Ninad dada was eight to nine years elder to me and Ragini was my classmate.
Ninad dada was left visually impaired in his early childhood due to an unusual cataract growth, followed by an unsuccessful surgery. As I started getting acquainted with them, I started sensing Ninad dada’s deep love for music. He was one of those children possessing  inborn talent, which came to him as God’s blessing.
He could readily play different TV commercial title tacks or movie songs on his little synthesizer without any hesitation of his visual incapability. I was always left astonished by the way he could relate the notes distinctly just by his powerful listening comprehension. Later an old lady in the neighborhood advised uncle and aunty to encourage his talent and train him technically. Accordingly, he started his musical journey under the guidance of a local music teacher.
Very soon, in a two years’ span, we returned back to Dombivali as my mother’s zonal transfer term had been completed. My memories of this family diluted as time proceeded and I lost the collection of moments which registered the time I spent with them.
Then, a few years later, all these memories unfolded from my treasured chest of events, as I saw Ninad dada being interviewed for a television talk show. I wondered how beautifully his talent had conquered his obstacles! He had faounded an institute called ‘KALA SANCHIT’ to train and groom physically handicapped aspiring artists.
Recently, I had a golden chance to visit my cousin in Nasik and I felt not to miss this opportunity to visit ‘KALA SANCHIT’. Numerous questions sprung up in my mind as I impatiently travelled towards my destination.
I received a warm welcome at ‘KALA SANCHIT’. The whole scenario of the premises reflected friendliness. The atmosphere silently spoke how dissolved these artists were in music. Students from all over the world had made their way to the workshops available here. Kids as young as five year olds were left open to explore the different facets of life and try to locate them in their music.
I had most inspiring experience here. I learned how one’s passion can lead him to his most fantasized destiny. I feel that the pain of dada’s difficult times transformed into a positive spirit which routed him to this socially offbeat, yet publicly transitioned and acknowledged path. He believed in the beauty of his music. He was convinced by the fact that his lack of vision was just a mere stone in the whole revolutionary process. Music isn’t just an art or a medium of entertainment for these students. It means life to them, a way in which they try to express themselves. At the end of the day, nothing really matters but everything deeply matters. The real zest in life is understood by respecting this mystery, which is beyond the horizons of cultural norms, needless of physical strength yet portraying the might of dreams and belief.....

AND ONCE AGAIN.....

(IIIT Pune- 2010 MAY )clicked by Bhagyashree P

It would be a dream come true,
If I could relive the odysseys spent with you;
In days of panic, I always had you beside,
With your arms around me,
Backing me and taking my side.

I remember the days, when we were together,
With our fingers locked in each others’, forever;
The spectacular moments, the longing meetings,
The restless night and eager mornings,
All so damn filled with your affection.

I will never miss you,
Because, to miss, you gotta forget;
Although you have lost yourself,
Your fragrance still remains quite intimate.

Popping pills and boozing liquids,
They say, blurs the pain,
But I am so addicted to you,
That a drug pays no gain.

You were my world, and it was the only thing I knew,
Though the discussions about ‘US’, were always very few.
I cried, I yelled n left no chance unturned,
And I pined for you,
Awaiting your return.

Now, I wish to get you back,
And tears pour down my cheeks,
It’s hard; it’s tough, difficult and very rough,
But your memories, as usual, bridge the distance.