"Send me a Dream -- a soft, deep dream. See that it feels like floating on cotton clouds", typed Kalki. She hadn't seen Kartik in months now. There was no daily electronic conversation between the two through hours, nor a wired one each night. Karthik felt like a milestone on highways, gentle reminders of destinations, polite spotlights of presence. He was out of the country in January, this was July. He had left the household long before she could even think of stopping him. Kalki felt terribly betrayed and her arching sense of dignity made her fall into the loop of walled silence. There were snakes inside the well asking to be climbed out, yet, when she stepped on to each, they came apart, slithering, slippery stairs. She woke up with her heart pumping against her mind, unable to reach Kartik.
"Send me a Dream -- a soft, deep dream. See that it feels like floating on cotton clouds", typed Kalki. Kartik woke up with a start as his cellphone wrongly beeped in, alarmingly, at an unset digit. This felt more palpable than an actual mail from her ever would. He knew perfectly why she never reached out to him, as he scrolled down the contacts list, fingered her name, and did not press on the call button. He turned to the other side of the bed, settled to sleep, scooped in Richard, and missed Kalki. He smiled knowingly at how she must be looking right now -- her hair tousled, her body squished against her side pillow, her face tucked inside the quilt -- exactly like him. For all that he knew of them, he was unable to reach out to Kalki.
They played a game called Dream-Catchers when they were children, carefree in their similar patterned clothes differing only in colours. Most of their childhood was unaided, unguided, while their growing years an accumulation of memories. In the game, Kartik would often sit on a brick under a coconut tree, behaving as if it were a rocket, complete with an empty green, tender coconut husk over his head, tied with a brown rope, one of the many things often found in his pocket. Kalki would sit a good six feet away, on another brick, in planet Jupiter. They would have half a brown coconut to themselves, their earpiece. And share Dreams. One would think a Dream and the other would have to Catch it. Their only hint would be one word. Dream-Catchers.
When Kalki uttered 'tamarind', Kartik won the point saying she wanted to have a wedding in which the colour of mehendi on her palms would deepen, take the tamarind depth with a generous brushing of lemon. Strangely for their age, both of them were very, very insightful. Perhaps their socially orphaned upbringing had given them this opportunity. Kalki's tamarind would never win a point for something as easy as having tamarind fish at dinner. Kartik would say 'stripes' and across the distance of Jupiter and rocket, Kalki came to know of his attraction towards Shambhunathan, from the other section at school. They were magnets at this game, pulling the truth out of their deepest withins. The walk back to Earth felt best, with no questions plummeting from the other. They held their hands in a joint swinging action of pulling of the rocket lever up and down, as they ran up dusty tracks.
The twins grew up beyond a natal bond. Different timezones, different heartaches, different longings later too, they connected in a way no wavelength could ever tie Jupiter with the Rocket.
Kartik decided to send her a Dream. He smelled in Richard's hair and placed a peck on his neck. Taking in his stir, he whispered 'Ford', muffled in the neckline hair curls.
Seasons, miles and oceans away, a Rocket delivered a Dream to Kalki. She woke up. It opened to, 'Come home to me'.
"Send me a Dream -- a soft, deep dream. See that it feels like floating on cotton clouds", typed Kalki. Kartik woke up with a start as his cellphone wrongly beeped in, alarmingly, at an unset digit. This felt more palpable than an actual mail from her ever would. He knew perfectly why she never reached out to him, as he scrolled down the contacts list, fingered her name, and did not press on the call button. He turned to the other side of the bed, settled to sleep, scooped in Richard, and missed Kalki. He smiled knowingly at how she must be looking right now -- her hair tousled, her body squished against her side pillow, her face tucked inside the quilt -- exactly like him. For all that he knew of them, he was unable to reach out to Kalki.
They played a game called Dream-Catchers when they were children, carefree in their similar patterned clothes differing only in colours. Most of their childhood was unaided, unguided, while their growing years an accumulation of memories. In the game, Kartik would often sit on a brick under a coconut tree, behaving as if it were a rocket, complete with an empty green, tender coconut husk over his head, tied with a brown rope, one of the many things often found in his pocket. Kalki would sit a good six feet away, on another brick, in planet Jupiter. They would have half a brown coconut to themselves, their earpiece. And share Dreams. One would think a Dream and the other would have to Catch it. Their only hint would be one word. Dream-Catchers.
When Kalki uttered 'tamarind', Kartik won the point saying she wanted to have a wedding in which the colour of mehendi on her palms would deepen, take the tamarind depth with a generous brushing of lemon. Strangely for their age, both of them were very, very insightful. Perhaps their socially orphaned upbringing had given them this opportunity. Kalki's tamarind would never win a point for something as easy as having tamarind fish at dinner. Kartik would say 'stripes' and across the distance of Jupiter and rocket, Kalki came to know of his attraction towards Shambhunathan, from the other section at school. They were magnets at this game, pulling the truth out of their deepest withins. The walk back to Earth felt best, with no questions plummeting from the other. They held their hands in a joint swinging action of pulling of the rocket lever up and down, as they ran up dusty tracks.
The twins grew up beyond a natal bond. Different timezones, different heartaches, different longings later too, they connected in a way no wavelength could ever tie Jupiter with the Rocket.
Kartik decided to send her a Dream. He smelled in Richard's hair and placed a peck on his neck. Taking in his stir, he whispered 'Ford', muffled in the neckline hair curls.
Seasons, miles and oceans away, a Rocket delivered a Dream to Kalki. She woke up. It opened to, 'Come home to me'.
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