'WIND BENEATH MY WINGS’

'WIND BENEATH MY WINGS’

Since my child hood I have been having this vivid recurring dream of flying. I am running away from some hoodlums who are for some unknown reason after my life. They are slowly gaining on me. I try to run faster but can’t gather speed. I am becoming more and more desperate by the second and the desperados are catching up with me. I frantically jump up and down. And suddenly as I jump up and flap my hands, I take off like the Harrier. Even then, the pursuers are running with me on the ground. I gain altitude slowly and then I am also able to navigate around more easily. I fly over treetops and power cables and go over tall mountains.  Again, as suddenly, I start losing height.    I look down and see my tormentors still running. I keep kicking down with both my legs and pressing down the surrounding air with both my hands. Sometimes I am able to lift off again, sometimes I can’t. When I descend to the ground in utter panic, I see the goons rushing towards me and to my horror I realise that what to talk of flying, now I can’t even run. I am frozen in fright like a rabbit in front of bright headlights. I try to cry out for help, but no sound comes from my mouth. With considerable effort, I am able to shout in a very small, choked squeak.  This is the time when I normally wake up, often drenched in cold sweat, sometimes weeping in a noiseless shout.  

            I have been having different variations of this dream over the years. On some occasions there is a girl with me whom I have to carry when I fly; normally I am all alone in my fancies of flights. At a few times, there is a body of water underneath when I am flying, or there is a snow capped mountain. While flying, I occasionally rest on the treetops. There are times when I am soaring high effortlessly like Icarus easily steering clear of the trees and the power cables. At times I find it difficult to extricate myself from the maze of power cables surrounding me. Normally there are no other animals on the ground. However, the trees are often full of different birds making their own cacophony/music. The owls and bats resent my intrusions very much and express their displeasure by screeching and squeaking and shrieking shrilly. But sparrows go about their singing without missing a flap. Often, the dream is so vivid and the experience of flying so exhilarating that I feel convinced even after becoming half awake, that I can really fly. There are days, rather nights, when I know that it’s a dream. But I am so ecstatic flying about effortlessly that I don’t want to wake up and miss the experience. Over the last few years, the frequency of the dreams has waned considerably.

            Now that I am approaching my twilight years, I find it funny that I had such puerile dreams for so long. But I am also in a way sad that I am past the age of dreaming. I have become very melancholic and nostalgic. This is the time when the realisation has finally dawned that I may have really lost my wings. I can’t even dream of flying any more.  Did someone say that you become dead the day you stop dreaming?

I have, however, not yet given up hope completely. I still go to bed with the fervent desire that the mobsters will come chasing me again and out of shear desperation, I shall be able to lift off, to save the fair maiden clinging to my side.