Till some years back, I used to wonder where do dreams go. After spending time dreaming about something or someone, when the realisation dawns that they are not coming to you, where do all these hopes and visions for the future go?
After all they were so real in your mind. You might have pictured a rosy future or a wedding gown down to the beads and the veil, or a house by the lake.
For a while, I pictured a glorious pond where all those dreams went and immersed themselves, like the idols we immerse during the Ganpati or Durga visarjan. They go back to their essence, so perhaps the dreams do too, becoming void to provide the raw material for further dreams.
I imagined that pond would store glimpses of what could have been, kind of like a haunted pond. After all, you had so much riding on that dream. You wouldn’t just let it go.
In times of depression, I would return to that pond, think of the people who never became a part of my life story, the dreams that slipped through my fingers, the waltzes and the walk down the aisle that only happened in my mind. It made me sad but it made me hopeful too that even the unfulfilled dreams live on in some way.
Nowadays, more than dreams, I wonder where do the people who have died go? Do they inhabit a distant land across the oceans, space and time? Do they have to fend for themselves? Do they also yearn for what they hoped for and dreamed of, once upon a time, the people they have lost in the passage of time?