Dream Girl

I used to dream like everybody else. About a new house, a beautiful lawn, a car, my trophy wife & a cup of tea. I used to paint them all on papers. I used to imagine them till my mom calls me to take bath and get ready for school. Probably, I knew that no dream was too big. I wanted her to be cute & romantic, simple & beautiful. I wanted to live smelling her all day and night. I wanted her to decode my sign language, sit with me for hours without even having a word, heal me of everything through her eyeballs. I wanted to be madly in love with her and die with her everyday, every moment.
But I grew up with a notion that thinking all those was bad. Thinking of girls was a sin. Therefore I never met the eye of a girl in my entire college days. I remember, I offered late night prayers after visiting the most popularly infamous theatre in the vicinity of Ravenshaw for the first time during Post Graduation. Then I was even tuned not to recognise the smell of the fair sex. I remember somebody throwing some sarcastic teaser that the poor boy would only make love to his socially legitimate partner.
As I grew up further I became a pseudo-intellectual cum a cynic. I started derieving interpretations for every roti-kapda-aur-makan to celebrate my literary egotism and romantic malfunction, and in the process I became a loner.
As I grew up further, I found myself to be an asshole, far from realities. I forgot all isms and decided to address the hard realities of life. Soon I forgot my dreams and repositioned to accept them in the form of destiny. Standing at this crossroad, I was trying to remember her but I could not. Instead I found a reflection of myself, no more making diagrams, but checking my bank account online. I understood the lure of the unknown, the importance of social legitimacy, the convergence of passion & peace in one person. And I leaned onto the context, the present, the reality. But you need dreams to live on.