Dreams
Sameer used to wake up at 7.00 am every day, did the usual and got ready by 8.00 am. Then he walked to the bus-stop and took a bus to his office. He looked at people and a song started playing in his mind:
Kas kar joota, kas kar belt; Khos ke andar apni shirt
Manzil ko chali sawari; Kandhon pe zimmedari
He never liked the song when he watched the movie, but never understood its repeated occurrence at the same time of the day.
His route to the office had an air-port. Every day when he crossed it, a thought flashed in his mind: to get down at the airport and take a flight to any random destination of his choice. “To hell with the office and to hell with the job”, he fantasized. The bus never stopped there.
While walking from the bus stop to the office, he looked at the children of the slum-dwellers: playing naked on the street. His love for the Classic English rose up: “O Freedom! Where art thou?” he thought. He wondered why he felt a bitter taste every day at this moment, especially when he had had the best quality corn-flakes with milk and sugar.
He used to reach his office and start browsing through his e-mails. He replied to the urgent, tagged the important and ignored the rest. Then he took a 10-minute tea-break and started the rest of his work. He attended all the meetings, nodded to what everyone said, made eye-contact, took down notes and agreed to his boss. On an average, there were three meetings per day. He repeated everything in every meeting.
For his most important tasks, he extensively worked on two tools: Microsoft Excel and Microsoft Power Point.
He had three mental clocks in which the timers were set: on the first of the month, he waited for the 30th; on Monday, he waited for the Friday; and at 9.00 am, he waited for 6 pm.
It’s been three years; there has been no change in his schedule, bus, office or mental state.
*-*-* Few years earlier *-*-*
After his High-School, he wanted to take Arts. His father suggested him that he should take Science stream instead. There were numerous options and good scope after that. After all they were a middle-class family, and wanted a good, respectable and secure job for him. He was among the toppers in his Intermediate exam.
After his intermediate, he wanted to go for B.A. in English. His father suggested that he should take Engineering instead. There were numerous options and good scope after that. After all they were a middle-class family, and wanted a good, respectable and secure job for him. He was among the toppers in his Engineering exam.
After his Engineering, He did an MBA from a reputed college. He was among the toppers in his MBA exam. He received a 7-digit salary.
*-*-* Present *-*-*
Since last few months, he has been talking to his heart a lot. He doesn’t remember the genesis of this process, yet he continues.
“Heart, you there?” asked Sameer.
“Yes Sir. At your service always”, replied the heart with a smile. The heart smiled everytime Sameer talked to it.
“I am confused about what I really want to do in life. Would you know about it?”
“Sure I do, but you never listen to me. You always listen either to your father or to your brain. Seems you are ashamed to do what I tell you to.”
Sameer felt little bad for the heart. What it told was right. All his life, he listened to dad and brain, thereby making the heart sore. It complained to him and fought with the brain, but always lost. Still everytime Sameer was down and wanted to talk, he used to go to the heart. It gave him a patient hearing; not listening the way Sameer listened in the office meetings, but genuine hearing, like a true friend.
The heart understood once again what Sameer was thinking and said, “Travel writer, my dear, is what you are meant for. Remember how you used to feel excited at the mere mention of going to visit the granny’s village. The endless farms, full of green harvest, where you ran, were the first love of your life. The article that you wrote for the school magazine: how that made even the senior writers go green with jealousy. The English teacher was heads over heels on you. You know, I talked to her heart that day. Despite different bodies, we both danced to the same tune. After that you were regular contributor to the magazine. How you visited with your mom to all the cities and you wrote. O I remember, all those articles went through me only”, the heart replied, controlling its excitement, lest it might be attacked.
Sameer started thinking. He was thinking from the right brain. It was friendly with the heart. They talked to each other and made plans for Sameer only to feel dejected at the last minute intrusion from his dad or the left brain or both.
“Dude, go ahead with what the heart is telling” said the left brain. “And don’t you dare let your right brain come into picture this time,” left brain reprimanded.
Sameer smiled.
He slept late that night. He decided that he will write his first article of the new life as his resignation. He didn’t get up at 7 am. He didn’t eat Corn-flakes and milk in breakfast. He didn’t take the bus. Somehow, even the song being played in his mind was different:
He took the cab.
“Airport le lena bhai.”
He got down at the air-port. The three of them were smiling. He bought the ticket to Shimla, and waited for the flight. Half his head was aching. It was the left side. He ignored that for the first time, the way he used to do for the other half earlier.
His mobile phone rang. It was his boss.
“Sameer, how come late?”
“Sir, am not coming to the office.” He wanted to add “from now on” also, but stopped.
“Kya yaar, on the day of your promotion, you are not coming! Dude, MD looks really happy with you. You got a great future here. Take a cab and come over. Meeting with MD doesn’t happen every day.”
As he stood there numb, his previous headache seemed to subside, though there was an acute pain on the opposite side and inside his chest. He looked at the ticket in his hands, and then to the mobile. He stood as still as the airplane to Shimla. Then he walked.
*-*-* Three years later *-*-*
Sameer wakes up at 7.00 am every day, does the usual and gets ready by 8.00 am. Then he drives his car to the office. He looks at people and a song starts playing in his mind:
Kas kar joota, kas kar belt; Khos ke andar apni shirt
Manzil ko chali sawari; Kandhon pe zimmedari
He forces the song shut. He has more pressing issues to think about than the people on the road.
No thought flashes through his mind when he passes the airport in his way to the office.
He looks at the naked children on the street but nothing happens. There is no bitter taste in his mouth. In fact, there is no taste at all.
He reaches his office and starts browsing through his e-mails. He replies to the urgent, tags the important and ignores the rest. Then he takes a 10-minute tea-break and starts the rest of his work. He attends all the meetings, nods to what everyone says, makes eye-contact, takes down notes, makes speeches and agrees to his boss. On an average, there are six meetings per day. He repeats everything in every meeting.
For his most important tasks, he extensively works on two tools: Microsoft Excel and Microsoft Power Point.
There are no mental clocks any more. He doesn’t wait for anything in particular. He works seven days a week. It’s been three years; there has been no change in his schedule, office or mental state. The only change that has happened is that he never talks to his heart. The right brain told him that the heart has become a machine, just like him.
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