Everyone sleeps. Each in their own way. Some sleep on soft mattresses, some on tight straw. The material upon which one sleeps might tell what one dreams of. There are rich dreams and there are poor dreams. Though largely, it is the rich who dream the poor dreams and the poor who dream the rich dreams.
Dreams and flowers have a lot in common. For instance, they both are beauteous; in their own way. The bright colour of a flower spotted upon a lush green meadow reminds one of how pretty mother nature could be. A nice dream after a dull day reminds one of how pleasant life could be. And yes, flowers wither away, and so do dreams. Nothing is as terrible as a withered dream, as people settle for some other lowly thing they never asked for in the place. Flowers though, decompose quite beautifully. They get to see the world around them; know its joy and sorrow, and amuse themselves over and over again. When they die, the world knows that the shrivelled being was once a pretty flower. Sadly, the same cannot be said for dreams.
Ramesh was happy today. He had just won fifty rupees at the lottery. Ofcourse, we stupid people know it to be a net gain of forty rupees (the ticket had cost him ten), but our stupidity fails to meddle with the happiness of those like Ramesh. It was customary for him to buy a lottery ticket every year on his birthday. That reminds me, it was Ramesh's birthday today. Birthdays are as a rule, special. Ramesh wasn't poor, let's just say his family tried hard to make both ends meet. But Ramesh wasn't the kind who would stockpile the cash to save up for something he would probably not get in the future. It was his birthday, and he entitled himself to a treat; with the money he won ofcourse.
After having walked several steps from the lottery booth, he slowed down and turned into Cafe Express. He ordered the cheapest thing in the menu. Not out of mere compulsion, mind well, but out of choice. He didn't like cheese, or he would have spent even the remaining ten rupees to get the next item in the menu.
Ramesh sat facing the glass double doors. He stared blankly at the shops and cars outside. The scuttling pedestrians outside were of little interest.
Meghna was a busy woman. And if she had pockets, they would be jingling with money. But her slim-fitted dress had none, and her purse had the honours of doing so. Meghna was in a hurry. She didn't have the time for a full-fledged dinner. She turned unsteadily into what seemed like a cafe, quickly gave her order and settled down at an empty table, facing the counter. She was eagerly waiting for her food to arrive. Yes, she was in a hurry.
Her parents were in a hurry too; to marry her off. She had rejected umpteen marriage proposals, of which all she had labelled 'Bloated stomachs still hungry'. Her family had the estate, the money. All she needed was love. She wished for someone who would truly love her, care for her, even if he were a pauper of sorts. The basic story of rich girls in movies? Well, the same here, though this one's still incomplete. Tonight Meghna was to meet another prospective groom. He was rich too, but his social service records showed adequate charity to declare him sympathetic. Atleast this one cared, the recent correspondences she had with him were much like the others. Perhaps these were weighed down with truth, and perhaps he was the one for her; she told herself.
Ramesh's inquisitive gaze was interrupted by the waiter who placed the tray in front of him. He chewed into his birthday treat. As he munched along, he turned his gaze back to the tulip in front of him. It was a perfect floral construction. It didn't seem to be pleased; but who was he to decide the moods of members of the plant kingdom? He knew for sure the moods of the beings of his own kind; for example, he knew that the girl sitting somewhat across him was sad. The girl. Depression did not suit such a pretty creature. He took a liking for her; her half-closed eyes as they looked down emptily, her nose sloped in the direction of her gaze, and her lips chiselled delicately into a frown which completed the gloom upon her face. Perhaps, he could cheer her up. A glance at the florists' shop across the road put his thoughts into gear. The ten rupee note in his pocket tickled him. Maybe a rose would cheer her up. It was a weird feeling altogether. He wanted to be friends with the girl, maybe something more than that. It was weird, the feeling he had that instant. He knew it, he was going to buy her a rose. A thought crossed his mind suddenly. Would she accept it? The girl looked rich, and such girls did not like the poor. A rose today yes, but the ring of tomorrow? He could not afford it. Nevertheless, he knew she would look prettier with a smile. He would definitely give her the rose.
Meghna's phone buzzed. He had arrived. She had to go. She dropped her half-eaten sandwich, what she had eaten was enough to suppress her stomach's rumbling for some time atleast. In the hurry, she knocked off the flower pot on the table. With a quiet apology, to whom knowing not, she left. A flower-gazer there would have seen a tulip laughing at the fallen lily.
Ramesh was biting away at his burger. He hadn't seen her leave. One moment she was there, the next, she was gone. He felt a sense of disappointment which relieved him of itself when he dug into the juicy chicken cutlet. And the tickling note in his pocket? Well, it was spent on a glass of orange-soda next door.
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