Tuesday, 10 July 2018

Some Things Dreamy

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A laptop, earphones, books, and pens. Strewn across the bed were these and a nineteen-year-old mess dozing over them. A typical day during college. My roommate is typing away frantically in her phone as if she were fixing third world problems. It's past midnight, so she decides to take a break and clean up my bed for me (what did I do to deserve her!).

Partly awake, this nineteen-year-old mess gets up to help as well. I'm only five minutes away from flopping back into a sound sleep when the phone rings. Unknown number.


"Hello. Is this Dashy?"

Deep male voice. Aww man, was there some urgent club work at this hour?


"Yeah. So I was just going through your blog and wanted to tell you that I really like it."

Silence. Wait, what?

"Oh. Umm. Thanks. Who is this again?"

"That doesn't matter. I just wanted to tell you that your blog's really nice. And your voice too."

Voice? What a flirt. Prank. This was definitely a prank call. But why didn't it feel like it?

" Uhh...do I know you?"

"Me? I don't think so. Nah, you sure don't."

"So we've got some mutual friends?"

"Nah. Not really."

Such lies.

"Then how did you get my number ?"

"Oh well. I wanted to talk to you after reading your blog, so I got your number, it doesn't matter how."

Huh. What in the world was the possibility of someone actually wanting to talk to me after reading my blog? Perhaps a little fact check would clear up some things.

"So tell me, what all posts did you read? "

"Ahh, I went through a few."

"Yeah? Which one was the last?"

Quite natural to pause and think right? But then again...

"...Yeah, the poem about freedom."

The one about freedom. India's daughter? Sigh. It didn't even matter if this was a prank call anymore. He mentioned the very poem closest to me. Ahh, that meant so much. But you couldn't just ignore how uncanny this call was. There's the awkward silence as I try to digest the situation.

"Umm...awkward. Haha. So ehh where are you from?"

I'm out of my reverie. Where was this going?

"Why don't you tell me where you're from?"

"Ahh, I told you it doesn't matter now. I just wanted to talk."

And somehow it matters where I'm from? Did he really not know? It could all be a sheer lie. Forgive me for being such a skeptic, but this was simply too unlikely.

"Did I disturb your sleep?"

"How does that make a difference?"

"Well if I did, I'd cut the call now."

"If not?"

"If not, I'll talk for a little while more."

"What about?"

"I don't know, we've been talking for the past three minutes, haven't we? Just like that."

We have? Was I encouraging him? Did it even matter?

"So were you sleeping?" he continues.


"It's past 12."

"It's only past 12."

Wait, why was I having a conversation with this guy?
But why shouldn't I have a conversation with this guy?

"You could've maybe left a message instead."

"Uhmm...I don't know. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. "
How did that become an invitation from my part?

"That's not what I - "

"Alright look. I'm not some sort of a creep or a stalker. I just wanted to talk to you after reading your blog and this is the first and last time I'm going to talk to you."

Well. That was ... nice I guess? I'd almost forgotten this dreamy feel of mystery and wonder. You're right, it doesn't matter who you are. Sorry, but my conscience did not allow me to be very friendly with you, although there was a part of me itching to ask you a million questions. Sleep had eluded me for the night by then. This was akin to a call I got one early morning that only said: "I love you." Only that it was a prank by a friend to wake me up, which he did succeed in.

I spent the next half hour nudging my roommate and fussing over who you might be until she told me to pester someone else. I spent the next ten minutes tossing and turning in bed after a failed attempt to call my bestie. Forget the identity, had the call been genuine?

At that moment came this irresistible urge to write. It'd been a long time. Even guilt didn't show up anymore.

Dear mystery caller. Never mind what in the world made you ring my number in the middle of the night just to appreciate my writing. Never mind if it was simply a dare of some sort and you didn't really mean it. Never mind how much of what you said was true, although I'd like to believe most of it. I feel like I haven't appreciated you enough for that.  Thanks for luring me back into Wandering Wows. No, not the blog, but the dreamland of words I'd stepped away from for a while, being caught up in reality.

Aye, reality's only the occasional break you take from the mind's wandering wagon. You get down and finish up your obligations of life, which of course you cannot omit, for they're the very fuel for your wagon. So while you're busy doing the needs-to-be of your every day, do remind yourself that your wagon's waiting out there to resume the journey. If you do happen to stay put for too long, perhaps a midnight mystery caller will remind you about it.

The wagon of words has got my fingers up and running on the keyboard, the churr of the keys playing a forgotten melody. If at all you're reading this, thanks again to the caller. Also, you're not a mystery anymore though.

Ah. I'm home. Reality, I'll be back in a while.

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