The Big Foot Dream

It’s almost a cliché when someone says s(he) dreams of being a writer someday. And I am one of those clichés. Only difference is… I’ve just begun to live that clichéd dream!

I have always known I’m a writer; I simply yearned to pass the rite of passage in the professional circle. When I had my Big Foot Revelation, I realised I’m just another novice in line to the Big Throne of a kingdom of travel wordsmiths; I wondered if my words would be taken seriously at all!

It was only as I was handed the keys to our Pool Hut in Orange County, that I observed an envelope addressed to me. It lay there, hand-made, exotic looking, sophisticated even in its rustic and earthy style. It lay there on a tastefully picked southern wooden table. It lay there patiently waiting for me to unfold more than a decade’s worth of passion nurtured in the deepest depths of my heart. I held it in my hands and realised one of my long-craved dreams had just been fulfilled. I had attempted a professional holiday deal on my own and it had just materialised, the envelope in my hands a testament to that reality.  

I hadn’t yet opened what lay inside the envelope; I was engulfed by the mere mention of my name on it. Nothing else mattered at that moment. I did open the letter a few minutes later, and it was a simple gracious welcome from the Orange County, Kabini management. A formal gesture. But it was the name on the envelope that stole my senses – just that – Ms. Anusha Shashidhar. There it was. One of the leading luxury resorts in the state, welcoming a travel writer, a professional welcome at long last.

I was mildly nudged out of my trance by the wind kissing my hair and cheeks softly. I pulled my gaze from the envelope to the porch on my right. The hut had a porch that overlooked the Kabini river at half a kilometres distance on one side and an infinity pool on the other. There was a pair of jute slippers and an umbrella at the porch’s opening. I slipped into them and carried the umbrella. I stepped onto the porch and realised it was drizzling… as gentle as a playful sprinkle from a lover’s hands…

I slipped into the reclining chair and took deep and calm breaths… I let my eyelashes meet… I could hear some birds chirping in the distance… 

Under my eyelids, I saw a little girl fantasising drenching in the rains amid some fancy greenery. As she watched Bollywood actors running around trees to express their undying love for each other on the television, she silently romanced the rain, the greenery, the lush nature onscreen behind them. 

The girl grew big in my eyes, moving on to hold an envelope addressed to her in her hands, she then slipped into jute slippers, carried an umbrella, and stepped onto a porch. She slipped into a reclining chair, closed her eyes, and her eyes held a fancy dream that lay twinkling for over a decade. 

A fancy dream that spun many a tales in her mind, a fancy dream that spun many a tales from her pen, a fancy dream that spun many a tales that writ her life alive…