A Story about Daydreams.

The time was 1.45 in the afternoon. I’s waiting infront of the now bare and empty yet what was a very lively and chatty Class- XI Arts A till yesterday, waiting for the 6^th period to begin. Mr. Sangay Tempa, the School Councillor, asked me if I had time to explain the story “Test” to him. There was some 10 minutes left when Ms. Pem Choki, XII Arts B, asked me to join them behind the huge rock turned into an artificial garden at the beginning of the session this year. There were Sangay Tempa, Ms. Pema Choki, Ms. Passang Wangmo, Ms. Poonam and Ms. Karma Denchen Pema. All seriousness personified. We spent the next 20-25 minutes discussing various issues related to Tagore's masterpiece "Woman Unknown".  

It was Pema Choki again who asked me to move on with the next story, ‘one of her favourites’, Thurber’s immortal “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”. Ms. Passang Wangmo’s question, in the meantime, had made me reflect on the fact that writing a story on daydreams or fantasizing may be challenging and I became rueful thinking that I should have thought about it much earlier.

“May I join you, Sir?” it was Ms.Jamyang Pema making that request from outside of the enclosed garden. Her request, sometime towards the end of the discussions to write something on the khaddar they were given on the Farewell Day made me seriously think of giving a try to writing a story on daydreams. I’ve been working on it since coming back from school and here is the net product. So, let me present it to you all with the hope and expectation that your honest feedback would help me do a better job of it the next time around.

 In the Throes of Real and Reel Life:

Hi, guys. I know having seen me sitting all by myself in my matted, second-floor balcony, you must be wondering at times why this apparently ‘cool’ lady stays all by herself, without any family, friends or whoever. You might have also noticed the lonely, lost, wistful look in my eyes. Let me tell you my story then – a story that I’ve decided to share after a lot of thought, after a lot of twisting and turning in bed last night.

My name is Pema Jangchu. Do not let yourselves be misled by my seasoned appearance. I was, just like you all, a vivacious, bubbly girl, full of the joy of life and living. I’d like to think of myself not exactly so much of a stunner as a pretty good-looker in my early days. By the time I’s in class-IX, I’s five feet five inches. Not bad considering my other two siblings were of just average height and both my parents couldn’t have ever made it to the school or college basketball team on the basis of their forgettable height, even if they had displayed the least bit of interest in the game.

Anyway, I was fair-skinned, a bit on the plump side – reason why many of the boys at school were crazy about me. I had straight hair falling below my shoulders. My brown eyes danced with the voluptuous lips every time I’d reason to break into a smile. In the opinion of my close friends, the best part of me was my infectious smile. But the secret that no one knew anything about as I’d always kept it to myself was my habit of fantasizing. My whole universe was completely dominated by the reel world. I fancied and fantasized about the reel personalities. Let me give you an example to make my situation clearer to you. I was watching this movie “Maine Pyar Kiya” a few months after its release on TV. A super-duper hit throughout the length and breadth of India at that time. The hero was making his debut as was the heroine. There was a dance scene. No sooner had this heck of a hero bare-chested with his awesome physique and innocent smile started dancing around the heroine,  I’d found myself dancing in his arms, having already replaced the heroine. That’s alright but then a few weeks later, when during the Farewell Dinner, Adi (his real name was Aditya, I believe) stealthily crept up from behind and asked me to go out of the MPH with him, I’s in no mood to humor him. I’d already seen some goody-goody ones like him – he’s good in studies and a darling of many of the teachers. He's also a member of the Under-17 national football team – and I understood it quite well quite early in life, what they actually wanted. Adi was no exception. After some hiccups, he came straight to the point. He told me that he’d loved me from class-VII and that he thought I was the prettiest girl in the town.

“You’re very beautiful,” Salman, bringing his face near mine, was whispering in my ears. A producer friend of mine is looking forward to launching a new face in his next. Can I recommend you? You’d fit the bill perfectly. May I have your number please? I’ll let you know soon…”

How can he be this interested in me when he doesn’t even know my name? That was what was exactly going through my mind while Salman seemed oblivious of the presence of some other moguls from the industry in the gathering hosted by Women’s Era.

“I’m sorry. You know I’ve never thought about it and it’s too early. I’ll let you know if there is any change of mind…………”

“You’re very rude to Adi, Pem. Look at his crestfallen figure. He must be devastated by the rejection." As I glanced after the slow, defeated, retreating steps of Adi going back to the MPH, I really felt sorry for him. What he’d never know of course was how I’s lost in Salman's thoughts while he’s kind of proposing me. There were lights, there were beautiful decorations all right, but he looked like a wet cat with his pigeon-chest and a face that looked like a kid’s. You may not believe me but the boy didn’t leave school or fall sick and when the board result was out, he was the topper expectedly.

My shift from the real world to the one of fantasy was a regular part of my life. Whatever it may be, I’d always find myself paired against either a Hollywood hunk or Bollywood badsah. That day we had the Freshers’ Night at Sherubtse. The auditorium was decorated with banners and small-sized, rectangular flags. At the start of the show, as we newcomers made our entrance to the venue, the seniors, having already lined up outside, offered us khaddar, the ceremonial scarf. I found the girl infront of me requesting the senior to write something on it for long remembrance…

“The winner of the Best Actress Award for A Film in the Foreign Language Category goes to … here Richard Gere characteristically paused for a brief while before announcing the name…It goes to Ms. Pema Jamchuk for her incredible performance in the [Title in Dzongkha] (The Day Dreamer).” As the audience stood up to their feet clapping, cheering,  I gathered the khaddar lying by my side and proceeded on the stage. There he was standing, impeccably dressed in a three piece suit, looking more handsome than he does on screen. He gave me a peck on the cheek and handed me the Oscar. Amidst all the clicks of the cameras and the glitter befitting the occasion, we posed for photographers the world over.

“Sir, would you mind writing something, anything on this piece of cloth for me? I’d keep this as a memento with me for the rest of my life.”

Richard Gere, the man who'd stolen my heart with his mind-blowing performance in “Shall We Dance” with Jenifer Lopez during the High School days, tugged at his imaginary cap as decent and graceful as in the movie and then went on to write, with me holding the khaddar on the back of the Oscar: Wishing a very bright and beautiful lady a promising life ahead with tons of love… As he was signing his name, someone pushed me from behind.

“Wai, Charo, if you go on blocking the way, standing like the way you are, how do you expect us to get in? I hurried back into the auditorium then having found myself confronting one of the most striking faces I’d even seen in my life. But that is another story.

Years rolled on. I kept on getting sandwiched between the real and the reel world. I kept my secret to myself till I realized one day that I’d left my best days behind. So last night I twisted and turned before making a decision. I called Adi (the boy who’d a crush on me, remember?), invited him to my place for a cup of coffee. After all reel life can never be as exciting as the real one. Don’t you agree? The End