We Sell Dreams

The first time our eyes met, lit up thousand lights in yours. A magical force enticed you towards me. They said, ‘He does not make love stories anymore’, I knew ours was one about to defeat the notion. You stood before me with your twinkling eyes. You held me in your tiny little hands and I became your first book.
 

The first time we met, you couldn’t read me. I was fretful, if this would meet the same fate as of the relations in your world. But your parents very patiently and lovingly forged our relation which remained strong bind for years to come.

My ancestors in the form of Gita, have taught your world, the soul casts off its worn out physical body and takes residence in a newer physical body at regular intervals in time. Even I came to you in different pages and sizes.

Don’t you remember the days when I met you as Tinkle? Mornings became afternoons, afternoons became evenings, and evenings became night. Was there any force in the world which could have separated us? Marvel and DC comics had filled your hearts even before these studios could even find a crack to enter your heart. Tell me Dear Human, do they not make summer vacations anymore?

All those days, I did nothing but loved you and sold dreams.

Somewhere inside me I had read this line, 

‘Books are proof that humans can work magic’. 

At this age perhaps you had been made to believe that magic is fiction and impossible exists. I took you on a voyage to my world where magic was for real and Hogwarts did exist. We together transformed from Muggles to Wizards. I made you believe that a teenager boy was chosen to defeat the Dark Lord. I made you believe that friends can be your family. Well, I also forced you to believe that Ronald Weasley can date Hermione Grainger, sorry for that! 😜

All those days, I did nothing but loved you and sold dreams.

With every passing day, we grew fond of each other. I was successful in manifesting the world that real love does exist. I was with you, even when the girl you loved left you. My pages, my paragraphs, my phrases were the places where your heart found solace. You think that she might have forgotten, but the pages of her Mills & Boons still smell of you. In our little home, I grew in numbers and pages. From loving a hundred shades of various colors to being smitten with 50 shades of a single color, somewhere between we grew up and lost our innocence.

All those days, I did nothing but loved you and sold dreams.

It is rightly said by a genius, ‘A book is a dream that you hold in your hands’. 

Never had I believed that I would end up selling a million dreams in your sleepless world.

Doyle, Brown, Grisham, Larsson; the names just kept adding to the list. Although you despised my cousins, NCERT and UGC, you never complained about me. Few lines inside me were misread, misinterpreted and misunderstood. You burnt me, tore me, and banned me. Even I did not complain in return.

Few years down the path, something unusual but ‘remarkable’ occurred. I called it genocide, you called it digitization. Pages got replaced by screens, my companionship soon felt too heavy, not portable enough. I was left alone, abandoned in the dark shelves. Dear Human, I soon realized that I was like the Humanity of your world; old, withered, struggling for its place, clinging by its threads and fighting the anti-social elements; termites in my case.

For what crime was I prosecuted?

Was I too much loving or being too fictional or extreme philosophical at times to eclipse the harsh reality of your world? The gallows would have felt less agonizing than this darkness.

Years passed by and I felt that love again, those tiny little hands placed on me once again. This time, you were the one to forge the relation, but for your younger one. Were you smart enough to not let your kid get addicted to the screen or were you grateful enough for all the love over the years? I am waiting for them to change the statement, ‘Real love stories do exist’.

Till then, all I would do is, Love you and sell dreams ❤️

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