The Idle Mind

I am an idler. I love doing nothing. When I travel by train, I’m in a hurry to finish reading whatever reading material I have with me so that I can spend the rest of the journey looking out of the window and allowing thoughts to wander wherever they wish.

I love looking at the landscape that flies past and allow it to play on my thoughts which, in turn, take me to regions inaccessible to man.

As a kid, I have traveled to the world of stars on wings which I got on request from my fairy godmother. I have seen my self as Heidi wandering up the hill and down the dale tending my sheep. I have seen myself as Jill, wearing outlandish British clothes and going up and down with Jack, carrying water in the pail.

As I grew older, I loved to dream of shocking my Malayalam teacher by answering all the questions she put to me, and reading like Chitra who was the teacher’s pet. I have, with glee, seen myself punching that boy on the nose when he complained I was copying from him the multiplication table for three fourth.What I actually did was to hit him on the head with my slate and then was made to kneel down for two periods till I apologized to him. The forced apology made me want to see his nose bleed like my brother told me it happens when boxers punch each other on the nose.

Around this time, I’d have delightful visions of my music teacher Sr. R (who used to shake me up as though I were a rag doll) going up in the air (like I saw in some Tintin comic), as the dynamite on which she sat went off. Of course, I would have had a hand in the dynamite finding itself on her chair.

In high school, I saw myself topping the class and being the envy of Bharathi Balasubramianam who always topped the class. I would also see myself surprising the PT teacher who always admired my never-say-die spirit, by beating Vandana by one metre in the 100 metres race from which, in reality, I always got chucked out in the very first heat.

Still older, I saw myself as a tall and slim airhostess (in reality my stature has always reminded me of the teapot of the nursery rhyme fame), going around serving in the flight, with a charming smile on my face, impervious to the envious admiration of all the female passengers. Around this time. I’ve also seen myself acting in Hindi films. Of course, I’d be stunning, wearing a midnight blue chiffon saree with sequins work on it and dance around the trees with the hero who would keep a minimum distance of six feet from me (so much for my puritanical Nazrane upbringing).

As I grew older, I saw myself - - well. I think I’ll skip that or my near and dear ones who read this will say ambadi kalli. ivulu kollamalloo –

And then there was a time when I saw myself as a globe trotting professor, sporting a dark horn rimmed specks, delivering lectures is the most prestigious universities in the world, the talk of the town, the pride of my community and family. Of course this vision presented itself mostly during my commuting days as I sat (if I managed to find a seat) in the Madras Mail looking out of the window (if I got a window seat and not a space into which I squeezed my seat and did the a magnificent balancing act to prevent myself from falling off), after the superhuman one hour feat of cooking breakfast for the family, packing lunch for the children, preparing snacks for teatime, taking a shower, draping starched saree, jumping into the car whose engine would be kept running by my tense husband and charging into the ladies compartment as the train started moving. Whew!

And then, as I grew older still and more acquainted with the ways of the world, of politics and governance in my beloved country, my dreams took a dangerous turn with sting operations and Suresh Gopi/For the People style of violence dominating them.

My dreams grew toxic.

I stop here. The last thing I want to do is to poison the blogsphere.