Love Letter To Dreamers

By Raashi Mishra

   Whenever I feel like talking about her, I hear the ‘sailor song’ by Gigi Perez playing in the background. I see the audience imagine a Phoebe Buffay with much more curly hair and tan skin. Her mind is so cluttered that her mindset tells her abruptness expresses authenticity. She doesn’t clean her thoughts before speaking, and in a world full of polished ideas, that’s the truth she holds onto. Disjointed, imperfect, but real. And she embraces that. A girl is sitting in the bleachers, trying hard to get the chord transition on her left-handed guitar. That does not mean that she is not strong. She is strong. She was so strong that when waves hit her, she just sat and welcomed them as if they were her old friends. She saw the world drift from her naked eyes. She didn’t care about anything, though. Her being average at everything that she does was her best quality. Ask her about her hobby. I bet she would name about 45 of em’ and talk about actors as if they are her old friends. Probably acting is her best friend. Her observation of the smallest detail in a rom-com or an old 90’s movie is so beautiful that she stopped looking beyond that. She can sit and bore you with the art that she sees in the corner of the room. Her eyes can see the doors of horror on an empty street. She sees it all like a movie. 

   She sees herself cycling, holding a camera, wearing a navy blue sun-dress and pashmina kept in her basket, filming the joy of a kid seeing his mother bringing a chocolate or of a shopkeeper after selling an expensive product. Her world was filled with colours. She hated the pastel colour collection of a showroom. She loved the pink of the cough syrup on someone’s wall. The grandpa sitting in a crowd, gossiping about the Sharma Ji ka ladka being in the USA. And she has the curiosity and a motherly feeling towards everyone surrounding her. She saw the world from her point of view. Never in her life did she care about money; she just wanted to have enough to take her loved ones to coffee and make them rant about their problem. Ask them to live their best life. 

  I agree with you, she was delusional, and she wastes a lot of time. She needs to get a 9-5 job and work hard. But she thinks that this is her career. She sees herself filming with a camera, writing stories for the audience who care, or probably becoming a chef, artist, just like in ‘The Devil Wears Prada’. She cared about all this because it was her dream. Dream, such an amazing word, right? People die their whole life just dreaming that their dreams can come to life, but she wanted it to be a reality and didn’t dream. She studied the failure of production houses, mailed people to hire a writer for free. Just to create a dining room filled with people talking about her. A legacy to stay alive, remembering her as an icon who lived. She didn't fall into the rat race. She lived. Probably, she is not Phoebe Buffey in this world, while she is busy dreaming of being a Joey Tribbiani in this universe. As dreams don’t come true that she is nothing but me, and for me, no one claps when the camera rolls

By Raashi Mishra