I have a dream. I do not dream it as often as I would like to, but I will keep trying. It is a most pleasant dream. One in which every detail is as clear as the winter skies. One from which I always wake up smiling, and invariably end up explaining why to a questioning pair of suspicious eyes. It is a dream unlike any other.
It is not another unbelievably rich and famous extravaganza about castles and horses and rivers of gold. Neither is it about flying with and without wings. It is a dream without NH 39-ish twists and turns and bumps in its plot. It is a most believable dream. A dream which is about one unbelievably perfect day. One I dream and wish would come true one day.
The dream begins in the morning. A time which normally alternates between routine dread and startling alarm, depending on the amount of sleep the night before, the quality of the 9 PM movie, and the length of the milkman's patience. This time, it's a different story.
The milkman knocks, softly. He pours out his milk in an unhurried and undiluted manner. He leaves as quietly and noiselessly as he came in, without the complimentary sarcastic glare. There are no hot words exchanged between him and my dog. The dream begins in peace.
I head for the wash room. The correct switch is selected on the first attempt, and I feel like a genius. The light bulb actually comes on, justifying its solitary existence, and confirming the existence of electricity in the immediate region. It also sheds a new light on this often source of argument.
The earlier visitor had apparently been a most civic and thoughtful one, leaving the seat, toothpaste and soap in the correct position, and convincingly clearing all evidence to the contrary. That kind someone had also evidently been a non-smoker, or had carefully extinguished fire well away from the drop zone. I take my seat and exhale a genuine sigh of relief. No angry interruptions or questions or pleas for mercy from outside. I think about the day ahead. It's going to be a nice one.
The phone rings sweetly in the distance. It calls out in sweet resurrection, and instantly brings to life the other living dead in various corners of the house. Dormant beings spring out from warm resting places in mad scramble. I beat them hands down with smiles to spare. Smug smiles of early bird who gets line before worms. Familiar voice from 3270 miles away wishes me good morning. I exchange pleasantries and conclude that the exchange works; actually believing myself when I promise to call back later. The instrument of chatter is then handed over to the pacing brood pecking at my shoulder. The smiles connect and continue. The day seems brighter already.
The newspaper arrives just as the final round is stirred in the first cup of tea. I almost smile back at the errant newsboy gone missing for the past week, and nearly forgive him for the numerous pieces of newsprint salvaged from muddy flower pots and dusty ventilators. Even dreams have their limits. I unfold the paper and scan the headlines.
No violent deaths or peaceful lives disrupted. No kidnappings or abductions reported. No call of wildcat strike or round robin blockade by Joint Action Committees and Corporations in support of the black market. No bans on scams or scams on banks. No allegations with clarifications and warnings and other splatters of fetid muddled mud. No words fired in anger.
I double check every column and article from pages one to four. It looks like the same paper, but reads more like a Walt Disney production and less like a Stephen King opus horrendus. At this point, I begin to wonder if this is all a dream. It actually is.
The biggest headline screams out the act of repealing all arms and disturbing devices from this area. All armed forces, powers, fronts, and armies of various banners dumped their guns in the Loktak in exchange for roses. Everyone came out smelling nice.
The Kangla Fort recorded its 1,000,000th visitor today. He won an all-expenses paid trip to Singapore, and flatly refused, arguing that Kangla Airways took him there on business every month anyway - direct from Tulihal International. Sources claimed that he settled for tickets to the India-Pakistan one dayer at the Khuman Lampak, but that could not be independently confirmed.
The visiting premier of Myanmar, Aung San Suu Kyii, has confirmed her nation's commitment to the Manipur Jewellery and Ornamental Crafts Corporation. The 30 page trade protocol signed today also included agreements on timber, pharmaceuticals, and tourism, among others. She was speaking at a press conference after inaugurating the Moreh- Mandalay rail link.
The state government launched its ambitious cash for work scheme today. Employees would be paid in direct proportion to files passed, processed, dusted and cleared. Chief Minister Dolansana also inaugurated the ATM booth at the new secretariat - a feature currently installed in all department offices to facilitate payments. He then quickly stepped aside to avoid the horde of employees rushing to get to work. At the time of going to press, they were all still inside.
I put the paper down gently and rub my eyes softly. I don't want to wake up yet. I look out the window and see the road in the distance. A green car trailing green smoke moves smoothly on a smooth road against a green background. No screech of rubber or clang of tin through craters and dustbins. It moves confidently with the sweet hum of a happy engine fed on genuine fuel. The road to Imphal will take less than an hour. I decide to take that road today, and change my mind instantly when I hear the whirr of rotor blades overhead.
The chopper ride to Moreh will take only half an hour. I can make it if I hurry. Soap flies, blade scrapes, oil and sunscreen splatters, shoes and socks and laces pull and push in fight to finish. Purse forgotten, water remembered, shopping list reminded thrice before heliport arrives in sight.
The last seat is gratefully accepted on a snug craft that gracefully fits ten. It lifts off with the calm arrogance of a bird with a clear flight plan. The metallic din inside gets louder. It begins to sound more and more like an iron fist clanging impatiently against an angry gate. It also sounds curiously like a Bowbazar Spitz barking furiously at a familiar stranger. I fly back down to earth. Eyes fly wide open in unfulfilled reverie. Time to get up and let the milkman in. Time to wipe the smile off my face. Time to face reality. Until bedtime at least.
Thathang Lunghang, a resident of Manipur, writes regulary for e-pao.net
This article was webcasted on 23rd December 2004.
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