A Hidden Box

As a little girl, Mira dreamt of becoming a queen one day. She lived her days playing the part of a captive princess waiting for a prince to rescue her from the clutches of demons. At night, she would lie in bed dreaming the same dream. Her childhood was all about fantasy – a mesmerizing world of kings and queens, palaces and prisons, princes and dacoits.

As she grew up, her dreams started taking a different shape but in her heart she still waited for a prince, this time a real one; riding a real vehicle. At eighteen, life seemed wonderful. While reciting Sukanto's poem on this age, she could almost identify herself with the narrator. Sukanto called this age 'incredible and perilous' when people 'neither fear nor despair'. Nothing seemed unattainable. So were Mira and her dreams. Though at times the crowd of choices made her a little uncertain, a bit perplexed; undecided between wanting to be a politician, a painter, a writer, a poet, a teacher or a social worker.

Baba lovingly called her, “Amar Pagal Meye.”

Ma would wonder, “Ki hobe?”

Friends teased her, “You and your dreams.”

“Yes, yes, I know!” Mira would reply giggling, “They are as wild and unpredictable as monsoon rain.”

And now, a homemaker, mother of two, Mira can spare little time for dreams. Some nights when sleep eludes her, she feels she is still imprisoned – in an existential prison from where there is no escape.

Life seems static, resembling Pozo and Lucky's life in Beckett's “Waiting for Godot”. Like Pozo and Lucky, she realizes the utter futility of her endeavor and how pointless it is to struggle because nothing really changes.

Amidst the endless chores of household, bringing up kids, carrying out the illusive task of pleasing everyone, she packs all her wishes in a box. Whenever any of them try to surface, she hushes them: Not now, this is not the time, not the place.

Admittedly, some days she feels like breaking out. Like Virginia Woolf she does not want to move or to speak. She wants to rest, to lean, to dream. She dreams how one fine morning like Radha in Purobi Basu's, “Arondhon” she will do nothing.

Finally one day, she resolves to bring out the box. Nothing drastic – just to peer into the box and bring out a hidden desire, two dreams, a few naïve wishes. The box seems to glow as if thousands of stars are hidden inside and the moment she opens it, it will surely burst into flames. She moves to open the lid.

“Ma, babu is beating me.”

“Mira, see what your kids are up to.”

“Mama, I am hurt.”

Mira rushes off, leaving behind the box.