The Rise and Fall of My Fantasy

Fantasy! As I came to think of it first, the word painted pictures of extraordinary characters studded with supernatural powers and pictures of ravishing women flaunting their bodies in minimal clothes, in front of my eyes. Though, as I gave it a deeper thought, many more aspects of the word invaded my mind in a short while. I observed that the very definition of the word fantasy has seen many changes in its dimensions with an increase in the number of days I have lived.

‘Fantasy’ once visited me with characters that outgrew realism and with an aura that exuded extravagance. It would be colourful and splendid and exorbitant. It was boundless. The only thing that stood between my fantasy and reality was time, which again was a fantasy (or perhaps, the only reality?). As a kid, I always believed that I were soon going to actualize the world of my fantasy, where everything was ruled by my dreamy, juvenile fanaticism, and I had the right to turn any ‘X’ to ‘Y’ at my will. In fact, then, I wouldn’t know why fantasy was fantasy and not reality. But I would always embellish my fantasyland with the most spectacular inputs I could think of, and would try and get a queer compensation for the much desired things that I could not experience in reality.

For me, fantasy has always been a way to live through a world that is unlikely to be actualized but, at the same time, is craved for. Over time, fantasy has permitted me to live in a specious world and satisfy some of my unrealistic desires at a superficial level with a remarkable consistency. In short, sweet fantasy has been my most lethal weapon against the harsh reality. Now, ‘how close can fantasy get to reality?’, ‘Can fantasy be perceived entirely as reality at a level of extremely high intensity?’, are questions whose answers range vast and are pretty controversial; but the concept can surely enable one to design his own world of mystic and permit him to be temporarily satiated with it by using dilatory strategies to avoid reality.

Today, life tells me that I am grown up enough to stop fantasizing. I see darkness scattered over every aspect of my life. Though I try and digest the fact as a byproduct of the austere process of growth and maturity, melancholy phases become unbearably long and torturous at times. A minor savior in such times is again my good old friend whom this article is about. And today, unlike my good old definition, fantasy isn’t about extravagance at all. Today, fantasy is just a true smile on my face with the anachronistic innocence that’s lost pointlessly in the course of time. It’s just a smile, a pristine smile! But unfortunately, now it’s fantasy; and by my definition, it’s the thing that is craved for but cannot simply be actualized.



- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com

Soaked

Atop the massive waves,
Of the deep blue ocean,
I walk along calmly,
Barefooted.
In glee, I wet myself to
Emerge, dry as the wind.

An unhurried express
Full of vacant passengers,
Drives me through wilderness
Till,
A besotted prince,
Returns to my kingdom,
Only to be driven away.

Tonight,
I lie at my bedside,
Reliving my other,
Exploring the world within,
I am soaked in fantasy.


- Janvi Gandhi
janvi87@gamil.com

Primal Instinct

Sex! Male or female, everyone wants it, but not everyone admits it. No wonder then, that everyone's so sexually frustrated. We always underplay this instinct that's been around since the time of cellular beings. You need to switch to Airtel and express yourself (who'd want the Hutch puppy jumping into bed at a perfectly intimate moment anyway?). Sex has been connecting people even before Nokia was just a way of telling people you were rejected.

One of the major reasons sex isn't spoken about as freely as, say, chocolate ice cream is that it's an activity (naturally) involving a male and female and the two hardly understand each other. Women expect men to pick up subtle signals like Dish TV (Ha, girls, thoda AUR wish karo). Men, well, the less said the better. You see, kinks in men's amour are the chinks in men's armour. Every ass only wants a piece of, well, ass. Someone said: Women give sex for love. Men give love for sex (of course there are exceptions such as *ahem* me and homosexuals). I'm sure whoever said that never got any more sex in his life. So it's really true that truth hurts eh? Ouch!

I'm sure moans, hormones and harmony have the same origin. What I really don't understand is how sex went from “woohoo!” to taboo. Who brought civilization to sex? Or sex to civilization for that matter? Sex is best enjoyed with animalistic passion (I guess, I wouldn't know), a sort of primal instinct. I mean, there wasn't really a need to make it ethical/moral/religious, was there? Don't try to make sex 'propah' is what I'm saying. Let it remain a natural activity between two that brings pleasure to both (Usually one! Men, are you listening? the girls aren't satisfied). It's a natural desire, like hunger or peeing. Like Nike, you've gotta just do it. But like Reebok, we keep running from discussing it. Well, I'll confess that for most of us, who look the way we do, sex is just a distant fantasy. But buck up people, impossible is nothing. If you aren't so choosy, I'm sure you'll find some action.

Sex is, without a doubt, the most powerful expression of love; and of course, the climax of lust. The most beautiful (transgender) activity two people can indulge in. Having said that, let's keep it safe and beautiful. The importance of protection cannot be overstated. I now know why that pestilence on computers is called a virus. It's easy to see the correlation. One infected pen drive can infect every motherboard. Similarly, one man's overdrive can infect every mother (to be) bored. And of course, you know how the other pen drives too get affected. In the time I take to write this article, 235 people will have died of AIDS. And of course there are other diseases like Herpes, Hepatitis (not to mention addiction) too, that spread through sex easily. In a very short while, the only activity that produces people will also be the very activity that destroys the most. Not only can sex make a person's day, it can also make a person! And kill him/her too. So keep it safe, okay?




- Nikhil Kini
Nikhil.skinny@gmail.com

The Sea of Fantasy

“I want to go alone to the beach next Tuesday,” I said to mom. “You know that’s not possible, sweetheart. Moreover, we do take you there every week, because you love it so much”

“But it’s not the same with you all around!”

I had decided firmly at that very moment that I wanted to go alone. I have had a close affinity towards the sea ever since as long as I remember. It began when mom and dad took me there for the first time. They had thought that I would like it there. In fact, I had fallen in love with it the very same day. Then week after week, they have been taking me there every Sunday evening. And of course, with every other visit, my love for it has just grown. There are a lot of people and a lot of chaos on Sundays. At times, it irritates me since then I cannot enjoy the visit wholeheartedly. That’s why I wanted to go on a weekday. I didn’t want to share the place with other people, not even mom and dad. I did not want the sanctity of the moment to be spoilt by other people’s presence.

Mom always holds my hands as we walk towards the shore. I didn’t want that. I wanted to touch the waves with my hands. I wanted to feel the waves as they touched my feet – the waves I’d heard so many times. They sounded so magical, as if calling out to me. I would jump on them a hundred times and splash water all around with every jump. It would be fun to have the water splash on my face. The water would then trickle down my face and I would feel it against my cheeks like a kiss. I wanted to walk the entire length of the beach; all by myself. I wanted to feel the sand playing with the back of my feet, trying to mingle with my toes, teasing me. Then, when I would grow tired of walking, I would just lie down on the sand and go to sleep for a while. I wanted to feel the coldness of the sand below me. I wanted to feel the warmth of the setting sun above me. It would feel like a tight embrace from someone you loved. After I wake up, I would buy balloons, the gas ones. And I will stand on the shore, and right when the waves kiss my feet, will fly them away. I will stay back till late evening. I want to be there when the sun sets.

It has always been a fantasy to watch the sun-set with my own eyes. I had heard mom and dad always talking about the sun-set looking so beautiful. They used to describe it as one of the most beautiful things they had ever seen. They say the sky looks orange and the sea glows in the light as the sun tries to touch the sea. I have always tried to give people and things a face; a face which would not necessarily be theirs. But I associate them that way. But it is a challenge for me to give a correct picture to the sun-set. I have seen the sun-set so many times in my fantasies and it looks different each time. I don’t know what orange is. I don’t even know, how the sea, which I have always loved so much, looks like. I can just feel its vastness. I can hear its constant turbulence. I can only touch it as it advances towards me with some kind of an exigency; perhaps it will always be a fantasy to see it outside of my eyes.



- Divya Shetty
divya_infinity@yahoo.com

Fantasy Ride

I want to be a superhero. I want to fly high, across the world. I want to fly into all the toy stores and get whatever I like. I want to be a superhero.

When I will be a superhero, people will flock around to see me. I will be popular and I will have my own trendy outfit. All the kids in my class will look up to me. I am a superhero. Everyone knows me. I have magical powers to make all my dreams come true. I am a cool superhero.

I have grown up a little. I want to grow more. I want to grow older a little, to watch TV when I want to. To go to the mall by myself and buy myself all the ice-cream I want. I want to grow up a little, so I can finally have a room of my own, a computer of my own and eventually a world of my own.

I have grown up a little more… I want to end up in a great college, a great college with great friends and a great degree. I want to have loads of cool friends around me. I want to have loads of fun. I want to be able to do all those things college kids in the movies do. Flirt a little, play a few pranks and have big laughs.

I have grown up a little more. I want to end up with that person I fancy. I want him to hold me; I want him to whisper sweet nothings to me. I want him to fancy me as much as I fancy him. I want us to hold hands at sunset on a long, lonely beach. I want him.

Oh man, time has passed. I have grown up even more. I want to land the best job with a great pay-packet. I could use that money to get fancy things for my Mum, Dad and friends. I would spend money I have earned doing things I have always wanted to do. Go to the pub, go shopping, travel the world.

Time has passed yet again. I want to get ahead of all my contemporaries. I want to be the most successful one. I want to have a fat bank balance, a plush apartment, a fancy car and of course everything fancy. I want to be known as the best of the best. Wherever I go, people should talk about me. They should know me. I should be respected.

Now I am an old lady, watching the sunset in the distance. Trying to point to that long lonely beach, I may have walked in my fantasy. So what, if my fingers are crooked and my vision blurry! I still fantasize. I want to go back again and fantasize about those beautiful things all over again, even if they didn't come true. The moment of fantasizing gives me enough joy to bring a smile on my wrinkled face.



- Shakti Salgaokar
shaktijs@gmail.com

Biker Boy

Flipping through pages of a bike magazine, a section on new bikes catches my eye. I read through each of the articles carefully. The thought of a new bike has always fascinated me. Fantasizing about bikes goes way back to childhood. The best fantasies are the ones that a human being experiences as a child. Everything’s possible in his mind’s playground. He then keeps growing and so does a certain fantasy which he holds on to ‘forever and ever’.

It all started with my dad buying me a toy bike. A shiny yellow sports bike look alike which to me, was faster than any bike on planet earth or at least the neighboring kid’s toy bike. The next few days were filled with the whole house going ‘VRRRROOOM VRRROOM, BRRR BRR BRRR’ and all sorts of engines sounds my bike (rather my throat) could make. It would run all day on the flooring or jump in the air traveling the entire area of my house. It would run in circles on the insides of utensils and, buckets even if they were filled with water. It could climb closets vertically or ride along windows. Hell, it could even climb my grandpa’s pot belly and ride on it till his annoyed grunts started to sound like another bike engine growling.

One fine day it had an accident (repairing it was another of my fantasies) and so it HAD to be repaired. I stripped it down to the last part with my dad’s toolkit only to realize that my engineering skills were limited to breaking it down and not putting it back together. My dad swore not to buy me a toy bike again. I guess he feared I might grow up to become a garage mechanic and quite naturally, he had much more ambitious dreams for me. So the bike fantasy was replaced by fights with Skeletor, teaming up with He-man and enjoying Disneyland with Mickey and Donald. And thus the love for bikes continued; a passion that evolved from a life-long fantasy.

One fine day on T.V a series called Street Hawk began to be aired. It had a guy clad in black clothes and riding a bike which was equally black all over. It ran faster than other vehicles, it could jump over cars; it could chase bad guys and also save the girl in the end. I said to myself”Wow, this is new!” Dad too seemed to enjoy this and hence let me watch it. This brought back all the bike fantasies I cherished as a kid and also made room for some new ones. With age, the toy bike was replaced by the real thing. It all started with my neighbor buying a new bike. It was a Hero Honda for the kids and the owner’s son was the most popular guy. Luckily, I would get an occasional ride on his dad’s bike and I would go of to sleep every night wishing that I had one of my own. My love for bikes was later supported by a bicycle. It didn’t have an engine but what the hell! My throat could still give that extra grunt. I would ride it all day with my other friends and soon a “BIKER GANG” was formed. Impressing girls was never on the agenda. Getting even with other boys was. Street hawk had indeed inspired me and I turned to doing wheelies (flipping the front wheel up), stoppies (flipping the rear wheel up) and skids. My stunts led me to my ultimate fantasy: the tag of the coolest rider in the group.

As years rolled in, maturity exposed me to another aspect of bike riding - the female attention that came with the power over the wheel. This, I learnt, on seeing the older guys driving fancy bikes with girls on their back seat. It must be such a high, we wondered. The next few years went begging with cousins to teach me to ride a bike, who wondered that this guy couldn’t touch his feet to the ground when seated on a bike, why does he want to learn it? How would they understand my deep-rooted fantasy for bikes now!

I entered college life and we moved into a new place near my college. Moving into a new place gave a new impetus to my bike fantasies. Everything but my college was far off so a bike seemed the need of the hour or at least I’d make it sound like. And my enthusiasm of riding a bike convinced my parents to finally get me one. At 18, I owned a bike. Riding a bike is great but owning one takes the cake. It became my most priced possession. Soon I learned to ride and hope to ride it everyday.

In the next few years the number of bike riders grew and so did my bike fantasy. It has actually grown with me. What started with a plastic bike which could ride on my grandpa’s tummy had then turned into Street Hawk which then again turned into a bicycle that had ultimately turned into a real bike. This reality was the sweetest of them all.

But then, it’s not about impressing your friends with your riding skills, getting some female attention or being popular with a neat looking machine under your ass. The real fantasy is above all this. It’s just the thrill of being on a bike, riding it fast with the wind blowing on your face, and performing those occasional stunts to get a new high.

The childhood fantasy of riding a bike was, still is, and will remain my ultimate fantasy forever. Just when I thought it wouldn’t grow anymore, I’ve been proved wrong. And for those who share such fantasies with me, until the next ride.



- Harshal Kalyanpur
harshalkpr@gmail.com

The Mind of a Day-Dreamer

You want to know what fantasy is. You just ask me.
If you call it off as daydreaming, it might sound too easy
But you dare not stop me; it's not just a stupid excuse,
Just try and understand, it's like a satisfying bruise.

You don't need to be sane all the while, it's not always real
If you're always level headed, you won't be able to feel.
Else you'll enjoy it; with a closed mind and open eyes,
No response to waves or calls, completely ignoring the Hi's!

You'll have no clue of what you can do, nor of what you can't
Just try and think that you're Rajinikanth
But you can't, you just can't stop your vagabond mind
Someday you might chase your fantasy and grab it from behind.



- Samir D. Bellare
Sambell111@gmail.com

The Return of the Wall Clock

“There is nothing that stops one from exiting the villa that hosts the wall clock, but no one has ever managed to come out of it”, a frail old villager warned William Tale, who had taken up the fatal challenge of solving the long-prevailing mystery of the wall clock. Many were said to have been swallowed up in the tranquility surrounding the occult clock over the years. Many voices were dampened and many lives were cabalistically terminated.

Willy was driven to the villa by sheer courage. He found himself right in front of the wall clock as soon as he crept in. 1.30 – the clock read. The forward shift of the heavy iron minute hand was captivating enough for Willy to hypnotically stare at it. Now, it was 1.35. The clock looked out of this world. It had an archaic charm to it. It seemingly had the power to play with time. It complimented the villa fantastically. The paint of the walls had deteriorated, the doors looked anachronistic and windows allowed the passage for an all-accepting darkness that had almost invaded Willy’s mind. He couldn’t restrain himself from glancing at the clock time and again. Now, the clock read 1.55. Willy courageously started walking toward the clock. His eyes were defined. The pair emanated a conglomeration of emotions during that ephemeral walk.

Dong! It was 2 o’clock. The sound resonated in the void scattering over each part of that room. And much to Willy’s horror, he started moving backward. 1.55…1.35…1.30! Time flew in the reverse direction. Finally, it froze at 1.30 leaving an omnipotent quiescence. The decorum was same as it was. Willy was trapped in the strangest of the time cycles.

Nothing was stopping him from exiting the villa, but he simply couldn’t since he had just entered.

(This genre of writing is known as Flash Fiction. The above story consists exactly of 299 words.)



- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com