I think I am a dreamer … and am I the only one?

The other day we had been to Surajkund Crafts Fair. It was a Sunday and the place – naturally – was horribly crowded. More than the paintings and the garments, what amused me was the live performance of various artists. There were musicians and acrobats… ‘Madaris’, to be precise. Interesting to note was the element of fusion. The tribal musicians were playing a foot stomper from a latest Hindi pick, and the Madaris were all clad in faded jeans! Times are changing my dear- and so are we. Amidst the hullabaloo of inquisitive visitors (and only a handful of collectors, really), there was a hush-campaign … something was going on – someone was there…Oh! Righto! There she was – with her unmistakable red plumes. I have seen her so many times, on packs of moisturisers and shampoos, and then vouching for her fairness cream on television. Shehnaaz Hussain was there. As wives craned to steal a glance, and boyfriends struggled to get their sweethearts’ attention back to their charming eyes – Shahnaaz moved on from one shop to the other, flanked by security guards, gloated by millions. As for the fair - nothing was extra ordinary for me – as I have seen it all back in Kolkata, so many times, so much better.

We moved out. With a fresh breath of air came a dream. His green eyes were chasing stars, and he was trying to sell a balloon to the visitors. How old was he? Seven? Eight? Ten? I don’t know. What I do know is that his eyes had a million dreams and his balloon had not a single customer. Honestly – Even I did not buy them. How could I? I mean – he was pursuing visitors, holding a balloon – a colourful dream in his mud stained hands. His dry, pale hairs were afloat. His patched shirt could hardly hide his bones. How could I put a price on his invaluable dreams? His smile, his eyes, his unscathed innocence had left me thinking. I am a dreamer. I dream of kites and stars. But am I the only one?