The Dream

This masterpiece marks the origin of that epic journey, undertaken by a great writer, poet, scholar and an intense philosopher. I, wrote this when I was eight years old. Herge's Adventures of Tintin : Explorers on Moon, was the inspiration. I was absolutely smitten with the comic series. There had to be a way I could go to The Moon with Tintin, captain Haddock and Professor Calculus.

Then the idea had struck me, one clear summer morning, as I sat in the bathroom with my head lost in clouds. That sparkling little vision was turned into a rhyme soon, and memorized. Once out of the bathroom, I had written it down in one of the back pages of a notebook Dad had got me, to practice maths in. I remember I had then run to him with the scribble. Dad to this day, is still the first one to read all my compositions. May be some day, he will be the first one to read my first novel. May be some day, I will have written my first novel, and may be some day, many more novels will follow my first novel.

Later that day, I had read the poem to my uncle, when he got home from the market, carrying bulging bags with spinach peeping out of them. I had read it to my Grandmother, who nodded rhythmically with the recitation while she hunched and laboured over the stone spice-grinder in the kitchen. I had then read it to my mother, in a high voice, from outside the bathroom door and she listened to it while she poured water over herself.

I had read it to my brother, who had merely spread his baby limbs on the bed and slept through the poem. His stomach heavy with milk went up and down as if in sync with the melodic lines.

I had read the poem to our maid, who I hardly believed had caught any essence of it. She had blankly smiled at me and was surprized when my recitation ended in so few lines. I might have read Milton's 'Paradise Lost' to her. At least it would have lasted until she had herself full with my lipsy speaking, which she liked so much.

The neighbour's dog had understood the poem better than our maid. It had enthusiastically, appreciated the rhyme, after I had finished. I so wished I could understand whoof language. The regret stays cosy in my heart even today. A writer needs good critics. I had lost on one.

Later, when school commenced after the vacations, I had gathered all my courage and produced the poem to my English teacher. She had read it first from my notebook with some serious expression and then turned and asked me to recite it to the whole class. I had then shamelessly tortured my friends with my recitation which by now I had mastered with all the practice. I now barely needed to look at the notebook. When I had finished, they all cheered. Many of them personally complimented me. I still remember each of those compliments. They were not tainted with any obligations as they often are today, but were presented to my honour in pure admiration.

I remember, next day I was asked to recite the poem in the morning assembly, in front of the entire school. When I had stolen a glance at our principal, I noticed Father D'souza. His grace, in spotless white, angelic robe, was smiling encouragingly at his little Wordsworth. I still remember that smile.

Fourteen long years have passed but it all seems like yesterday. Those few rhyming lines are still etched in my memory. I have written many poems in all these years, but none is as special, as that eight line dreamscape. For it now holds memories. It now glistens with the hope and aspirations of an eight year old, who as she embarked on her journey to eternal literary glory, felt her dream, bubble in her insides. Who, every time she was appreciated with surprised nods, baby snores, echoing applauses, smiles, claps, compliments and whoofs, realised, she was magnanimously blessed by all those, she held, closest.


The Dream

Once I saw a very big rocket,
Suddenly I stood up, with hands in my pocket.

The professor told me to go to The Moon.
I was very happy, to hear it soon.

The rocket was launched and I was in the sky.
I saw Mars and Jupiter, flying and passing by.

Suddenly there was a crash and I shouted and screamed.
And fell down from my bed and realised, it was a dream.