Lately I’ve been meeting the men of my dreams. First there was Christian, whom I am set to marry. The next night, it’s Nayan, who is the father to baby Rose; we’re definitely not set to marry.
Christian is my deathly handsome, darling fiancé. His straight hair falls over his eyes like Hugh Grant in Four Weddings and a Funeral and his incredible good looks even compliment me. He is concerned when I find him on the busy day of our wedding, waiting near the altar and reminding me to check pictures of clothes he wants me to wear. When he takes my hands in his and implores me with a searching look, I tell him “Baby, I’m in a hurry.”
I brush him aside and run off to find my missing wedding dress. I’m in a rush, trying to find it. I check for it everywhere and ask friends and family if they’ve seen my big, white, fluffy dress. It’s nowhere and I feel like I’m drowning in a consuming whirlpool of people and places that cannot help me.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m in a spinning haze; there is a knot in my stomach. Christian leaves me feeling warm inside and I feel happy in the knowledge that I am worthy of him. I try to recall his face through the day, and the vision of him looking at me through his impish long hair, fills me up.
Nayan, of course, is completely different. He is short, balding, and definitely stocky. But he has the most amazing sense of humour. And, the chemistry we share… I definitely haven’t felt that way in a long time. It’s almost physically painful to not be with him. You see, Nayan is a married man. His one-year-old daughter has the softest chubby cheeks and his wife — I never try to picture her.
We meet at a wedding and travel by the same train back home. Nayan, with his family, and me with my mother. My sub-conscious beautifully brings together my past and my present. The omnipresent bhaiya , a relic from my father’s days in the army, travels with us. As for me, I am a bride-to-be. So when Nayan has to get off a few stations before me, I hurriedly scrawl my phone number on a piece of post-it and choke back tears of grief. I know we can never be together.
In the morning when I wake up from my dreams, I am more disturbed than amused. From my bed, I can see my husband of six months, hovering in the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea. He’s neither like Christian nor Nayan, but he’s my reality — for better or for worse. As for Christian, Nayan and the others that will come, I can’t wait to meet them… in my dreams, of course.
