In my childhood, when I had started learning to dream, I would spend a lot of time daydreaming. I was in a pasionate love of playing football so whenever I had fallen ill I would start dreaming quite recklessly. In my dream, loosing all control, I became more popular than Pele. Maradona had not started playing at that time. He was siply lucky enough to skip that dreaming onslaught.

Later in my disturbed adolescence when I had been introduced to Marxism, I thought revolution was just waiting on the doorstep. I should open the door. Unfortunately, I tried but in vain. I could have been murdered without knowing why I should have been killed. People who would have killed me, did not ever try to know whom they had just killed! This is irony of politics.

I took not much time to realise that politics was not my cup of tea. I departed thankfully and got attracted to the uninhibited world of literature. Literature does not guarantee your bread and butter, no never anywhere. My dream found a new place to unfold. I thought about a room where only books would have stacked and papers with written words would fly around. Now I have two rooms to live and share with my wife but still short of finding the dreamy atmosphere. It was not her fault. Neither mine.

May the dream come true!