The Dream Catcher

Chapter 6

I reached Delhi two days later. Getting down there was like arriving from a time machine, from another planet. The person I had contacted was there outside the airport holding a placard that was screaming my name. We quickly exchanged greetings and he left me where I wanted to go three hours later. From there, we parted ways.

This was four years ago. I reminisced, caressing the fond memories.

Now, I lay my head back on the stone,
which acts as my pillow, looking at the stars in the dark night sky. After lying like that for about an hour, the voices in my head became louder. Echoes of my past resonate in my mind, breaking the ghostly silence the night has cast on me. It had started out as a small voice whispering, which had gradually turned to talking and now it had turned into screams. But into screams only I could hear.

Now, I was a child of the streets, and proud to be one. Back then, when I had left my home, I hadn't taken anything with me, except for a few clothes. I had left behind all the luxuries life had offered. I had also left behind fears that had conquered my mind back then, embellishing it with an air curtain that did not let even the finest dust particle from the big, bad world enter into the fortified fortress of human luxuries that had surrounded me. Even though I had left behind so many things, I had carried the thing that I treasured the most, my dream catcher, the one that was the genesis of all the things I had done, the things I was doing and for the things I intended to do. It was the one that had swayed tirelessly in the wind by my window, giving me ideas to create, explore and learn. It had been a silent spectator all this while, swaying gracefully to the soft breeze as if it were assuring me that my decisions were right.

Maybe I was here because I was destined to be or maybe because, back then, I had believed a little too much in the dream catcher and my dreams. Whatever the reason was, I did not regret, for what was done, was done and now there was no going back. Though I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I had grown up on the streets, imprisoned in solitude. But the best part of it all was, though I was now just in my twenties, I was being a beam of solace for the children of the streets. I was working with them, helping them grow and to, most importantly, ensure that all their questions were answered so that the veil of illiteracy blinding them was blown away.

As all these events play through my mind in a vignette, tinted with happiness, hinted with sorrow, I lean, resting my head on the hard stone, worn out with the passing time, that cradles my head as I retire for the day, immersed in nostalgia and retrospection. The dream catcher silently swings above my head, to the rhythm of my life.