Dream

Every night, I dream the same dream. 

I find her. I knock on the door, but there is no answer. I open it. It opens inwards, it's not locked.

There she stands, who is not surprised to see me. She has the childish smile on her face, ready to burst into laughter, seeking some minor absurdity about me. Her long, thin arms are extended generally towards me, but also towards the sky, in her comical way of demanding a hug.

No, says a part of me, and the dream rewinds. I open the door and she stands in the same spot. Now her face is not the same, rather, it has the distant sad smile. She is still not surprised to see me. Her shoulders slouch in the way that signifies that she is tired, does not want to be touched.

Then I walk up to her, stand two feet apart. I look for words.

I go through conversations in my head. Funny, because even if I dared to speak any of it, it would be all a dream and it would be in my head anyway. It takes attempts to make an attempt in my imagination.

"Why have you left me" - This is not good, I already know the answer. Also, the answer is quite useless for me.

"Do you still love me" - This is also not good, because she does not have the answer. Also, this answer is quite useless for me, too.

"Will you come back to me" - This is terrible. She will make a sad face and give neither a nod nor a shake. I know that it will be the firmest no.

"How are you?" - This, a question that does not end in 'me', is probably heading in the right direction. Also, this would be a question since I do not have the answer and she probably does. But she never answered this question.

What question would you ask if you met the love of your life, your love long lost?

Where did it go wrong What did I do Was it something I said Will you forgive me Can you give me another chance Do you hate me Did I hurt you Was there someone else When did you stop loving me How much of what you said was lies Why does it have to be this way Did you ever love me

"Remember the day, when you came to the airport to meet me, in your green coat and make up, lips deeper red than usual, skin whiter than I remember, eyes holding back tears. 

I gave you the strongest hug I could, like I was trying to hold on to something that I knew I couldn't. And it probably hurt you but you didn't say a word.

That was the happiest I have been. 

I'm sorry."

And she looks at me, eyes already deep under tears, both in sorrow and in hatred. I regret bringing out the memories, now I have upset her.

Cannery, Desolation.

Cannery Row is a novel by John Steinbeck. Although I have not read much of Steinbeck, and his Americanness often puts me off, Cannery Row is somewhat special. I believe that is because the Cannery Row in the story is a special place. 

The novel follows no one in particular, but everyone's everyday lives in the fabled road. Situated in California, the place is where the fishing boats come in with their catch, and cans of fish are made, and hence the name. The heroes and heroines of the story are not the factory workers or their families, rather, it is the people whose presence are visible only after the workers have gone home for the day. 

They are "whores, pimps, gamblers and sons of bitches", but their lives are viewed and accounted by the author as our own. And through the story, it's difficult to feel that they are anything less than "Saints and angels and martyrs and holy men". The book is not remarkable for the prose and poetry, but rather the love with which their tales are told. 

Desolation Row is a song by Bob Dylan. The song's title, lyrics and the general atmosphere has been said to be influenced by Cannery Row, and although the words are different, the feeling of the place is the same. The place is a desolation. People do not have much, and those who do are out to make the lives of those who don't more miserable.

Yet, both the Rows are home. They are home to the protagonists of the story, and because I am so invited to be their friend, family, it becomes my home.

Home is not a place, but rather the people.