SAQEENA’s DREAMS
What are dreams?
Who manufactures them?
Who decides what dream one should have?
Are these images of the past that we see while we sleep, or are these premonitions of tomorrow yet to come?
Or are these a shadow of the things that we want?
Should we dream based on our standing in the world or should we dream beyond our means?
Do we even get to decide our dreams, or are we mere puppets to someone’s fancy?
Saqeena never thought about these things. She just dreamt. Dreamt of a life filled with happiness, with bliss, with all the warmth that this world had to offer. In her dreams she would smile – as often as she could, as hard as she could. And every time she smiled she engraved this feeling of happiness into her subconscious.
Because in the real world, she rarely smiled.
Rarely felt happy.
Life was mostly what happened to her. In fact, she could count on her fingers the moments she felt anything other than numbness.
Being the eldest in the family, Saqeena’s entire childhood was spent taking care of her siblings.
“Beta I am going to work and will be back soon. Please keep an eye on your brother.” Her mother would ask Saqeena before leaving for work. While her mother cleaned utensils and wiped the floor. Saqeena would wash her brother’s milk bottles. Every year, a new sibling joined the family, and every year, Saqeena had to look after them while her parents went to work. At an age when she herself needed care, she was the mother to her brothers and sisters.
After the fifth child was born, her mother had to leave work. The already meagre family income dropped even further. Everything in Saqeena’s household was either torn or broken, donated by someone, or always in short supply.
For years her days looked the same. She would wake up before sunrise and help her mother gather wood for the stove. Then she would walk to the municipality tap to fill water, balancing two tin cans against her thin arms. By the time she returned, her siblings would be awake, and her long day of tending to them would begin.
She lived in a world where neglect was the norm – crying siblings, a helpless mother and a drunkard father. That was her reality till she turned sixteen.
By now, all her siblings were old enough to take care of themselves, but there was never enough food for anyone. As a young woman, even finding clothes that fully covered her modesty was difficult; hoping for anything more was out of question.The entire family now depended on her father’s erratic income — and his moods.
When her abba came home from work, her mother would prepare Saqeena and her five siblings to be on their best behaviour.
“He is the only breadwinner of the family.” She would say.
“He works hard all day. We must make him feel happy so that he can rest well and go to work tomorrow, all charged up.” Her mother would say.
But Saqeena knew and so did her siblings. All of this was her mother’s ruse to get whatever money her father had earned for the day – just enough to manage the household expenses & feed this family of eight. Yet she never got the full amount. Half of it always went to his bottle.
Saqeena, her siblings and her mother would hardly get to have two meals a day. Yet they were still thankful to her father.
Saqeena, what she lacked means, she made up for in dreams.
She dreamt of a life where she would not have to go to bed hungry.
She dreamt of a life where she could share her most intimate thoughts with someone who understood her.
And she dreamt of a place where she could be simply happy and smile all day long.
“Saqeena, beta, you are the eldest in the family. You know how our financial condition is. You also know how Kolkata is. There is hardly any work for any one of us. I have been meaning to talk to you about it for quite some time now. But I did not know how.” Saqeena’s mother broached the topic while handing her the biggest bowl of fish curry she could manage that night.
“There is this proposal from a family in Delhi. They currently live here but they are shifting back to Delhi soon. The parents have two young children and they are looking for someone to help take care of them.
Beta the money is really good. They will pay thirty thousand rupees per month. You will stay with them & they will take care of the food. In fact they have also agreed to pay for the first month of groceries for you, you know soap, shampoo, basic clothes.
You know Salima? She was working with them while they were staying here & she told me that the family is very nice, very loving and very caring. The children are angels. They are in school for half the day, then all you have to do is some light dusting and cleaning.”
Saqeena froze. The morsel of fish curry that she was about to put in her mouth stayed suspended in her hand. She stared, stone cold, at her mother. Her insides churned. Her heart pumped faster than ever. She did not think. She did not move. She just kept staring at her mother.
“Saqeena!!!” Her mother broke the silence.
It was as if she had woken from a bad dream. She blinked, lowered her gaze and finally put that bite of fish curry in her mouth.
“Beta say something.” Her mother said softly.
“Ji Amma Can I think about it?” She bought some time as her mother nodded.
Then the dinner was mostly a silent affair. Neither mother nor the daughter spoke or looked at each other. Both of them pained at the idea that her mother had just proposed.
Saqeena quickly finished what was served to her, eating to her heart’s content for the first time in weeks. She then helped her mother clean the dishes and lay down on the floor beside her siblings.
Saqeena and her mother had not spoken since that night. The mother did not have the courage to ask her daughter again.
How can I let my daughter live away from me?
Am I doing the right thing?
Can I live with myself if I let her go?
Would she be happy there?
Are these people actually as nice as Salima says they are?
If she goes I will be able to afford education and food for other children.
She is old enough to understand that I am only asking this for the benefit of the family.
She is a mature child/I know she would understand.
Her mother was torn and restless having asked Saqeeena to go away to a new place, with an unknown family. So she did not ask her again. Even though she wanted Saqeena to say yes to this proposal she never wanted to force anything on her.
Did my mother really ask me to do this?
Did she really ask me to go and live with complete strangers?
Did this really happen?
Does she not love me?
Will she be able to live peacefully if I agree to do this?
Will she be able to help me if something happens to me there?
Are those people actually as nice as my mother says they are?
Saqeena thought long and hard about the proposal & had made up her mind that she would not go. But when she saw her youngest sister fighting with her mother over the quality of food served to her, she made up her mind.
Being the eldest child, she felt it was her duty to contribute towards the family. And so, with all the trepidation in her heart and mind, she finally went to her mother and accepted the offer.
The next few days passed in a blur.
The family she was to travel with had met her about a week before their departure. The missus had been kind and understanding toward her. The lady of the family explained what she expected her to do and understood how difficult this situation was for her. The children were docile and immediately took to Saqeena.
By the time they left, she felt relieved by the warmth of the family she would soon be living with in an unknown city.
At home her mother and her siblings were extra nice to her. She got the best spot to sleep, the largest portion of food, less work and most of all she got their undivided attention.
So when the time came to board the train she was less sad than when the idea was proposed to her.
Everyone was present to see her off at the railway station. Saqeena hugged her family, cried and stepped onto the train bogey waving them goodbye and praying in her heart to see them again soon, as the train chugged and took Saqeena away from her family’s sight.
The journey from Calcutta to Delhi took about sixteen hours. As the train chugged forward & the city landscape changed into farm lands Saqeena’s apprehension turned into dread. Throughout the journey she silently looked outside the window, lost in her thoughts.
Even though the lady of the house kept talking to her, trying to reassure her of the new journey ahead, Saqeena’s sadness had completely taken over by the time she reached Delhi.
The realisation that she would not see her mother, father or siblings every morning when she woke up had engulfed her. The helplessness of knowing she could not do anything about it settled in her heart. And this was visible on her face even though she tried hard to hide it.
During the journey from the station to their house, only the windows remained constant for Saqeena – everything else changed. The transport, the city, the people, the view outside the window.
The farm lands gave way to the city. The city gave way to the railway station. The station gave way to hordes of people, scores of cars, and then a collection of buildings. Buildings of all shapes and sizes – one storeyed, two storeyed, three storeyed, square, rectangle. To Saqeena it looked as if somebody had planted french fries vertically in neat equidistant rows and columns.
Each house is unique yet simple. Within that mesh of rooftop and walls lay the house which Saqeena would now call home.
Once Saqeena got out of the taxi, she saw a wide road lined with rows of houses on either side. She took out her small bundle of luggage and followed the missus of the house into this one-story building.
“Come in, Saqeena. Be careful. Watch your step while climbing the stairs. This is my in-laws’ house.” the missus explained to Saqeena as they climbed the stairs.
“My brother-in-law lives on the ground floor along with my father-in-law and mother-in-law and we live on the first floor.”
The house was built on a rectangular plot shaped like an elongated matchbox. A flight of stairs in the front led to a small balcony. From there, a door opened up to two large rooms placed one after the other along the length of the house.
As Saqeena moved from one room to another, she noticed that the last room opened into a large verandah with a bathroom and kitchen on the far end of it. Right beside the bathroom was another flight of stairs leading to the ground floor.
From the verandah, Saqeena could see rows of houses against the background of a vast blue sky. All the houses were single-storied except for one, five storeyed building that stood out.
“Saqeena, why don’t you get fresh and come help me in the kitchen?” the missus called out. And she did as she was told.
The family in Delhi took good care of Saqeena. She could eat to her heart’s content, got her own cupboard for her belongings, got to sleep on time, and even got afternoon breaks.
The children kept her busy throughout the day. Both the kids and their parents had gotten fond of her. By moving from Kolkata to Delhi, Saqeena had not only moved cities but also crossed social classes. Yet she felt a void.
An aching heart, a longing to see her family, to play with her siblings, to sleep beside her mother. She didn’t need the luxuries of life. She prayed to be with her family.
“Saqeena, could you boil the children’s milk?” The missus would say
“Saqeena, is my breakfast ready?” The mister would ask.
“Saqeena didi, I spilled water on the floor, could you please help me clean it.” The children would request.
Like a mechanical doll Saqeena would listen and obey orders like these from dawn till night. She would be the first to wake up and the last to sleep.
“Do you think we are overloading Saqeena with a lot of work?”The missus asked the mister one night while in bed.
“I hope we are treating her right.” She added.
Saqeena who was on the other side of the door heard her and thought to herself.
“They are not treating me badly. In fact, ever since I was born this is the most luxurious life I have lived.
I have food to eat 3 times a day. I have a fan and an A/C to sleep under. I have a proper roof above my head. I don’t have to use the public bathroom. I am comfortable.
Yet every morning getting up would be difficult for her, not because she didn’t get a good night’s sleep but because she had to carry the weight of accumulated grief within her.
Every morning she stood in the verandah brushing her teeth and gazing at the only multi-storeyed building in her view. She didn’t know why but that building gave her hope. Hope that one can stand tall even when alone. So she took her time to brush her teeth and admire the building. She noticed the freshly painted cream-colored exterior.
She admired how each floor mirrored the other yet how each house had its own personality.
One balcony was adorned with bright pretty flowers, while another was covered in green vines. The third had clothes hanging to dry, while the fourth overflowed with used boxes and old toys. But it was always the last balcony that caught Saqeena’s attention.
It was bare – minimal. It looked brand new, just like other balconies — yet, there was no decoration, no plants, no chairs, nothing at all. Yet it looked complete in its own way. It was unique. Just like Saqeena’s life.
“Good morning, Saqeena” the missus would say as she passed by to use the washroom, pulling Saqeena back to present.
Every day, she would complete her morning tea, then help the missus in the kitchen. When the kids got up, she would help them get ready for school. She then cleaned and dusted the house while the missus cooked the lunch.
Afternoon was her nap time, which she used to rest and talk to her family. By the time she woke up the children would be back and finished with their own nap. So in the evening Saqeena took the children to play outside, bathed them once they were back, then helped the missus in the kitchen prepare dinner. Then she ate her dinner and went to sleep.
“Have you felt something off about Saqeena?” the missus asked her husband as they lay on the bed one night.
“I can’t say for sure, but she does look sad.” the mister replied.
“I’m not imagining it, right?”
“I think I have heard her cry a number of times. I hear her sob when she goes to sleep at night or rests in the afternoon.” The missus continued.
“What should we do? Should we talk to her?” The mister responded. “We are already doing what we can do. We treat her well. Include her as part of the family.”
“I try to talk to her so she does not feel lonely but she hardly speaks. The only time I find her smiling is in the morning when she is looking at that building.”
It had been 3 months since she had moved to Delhi. The initial sting of separation from her family had somewhat softened but Saqeena still felt a void in her heart.
Her only solace was her cup of tea in the morning and the second floor balcony. By now she knew every chip of paint patches that had flaked off, every rusted bar on the railing and every other imperfection on that balcony.
It was one such morning when Saqeena sipped her tea and stared at the second floor balcony when it happened. For the first time in three months someone came out on the balcony.
A man.
Only in his briefs, stepping on to the balcony to hang his towel out to dry.
Once he hung his towel he looked out from the balcony. The streets were empty, the rows of houses lay in deep sleep. There was no one in his sight except for this lone figure with a cup in her hand and looking straight at him. He looked at Saqeena for a moment longer and then went inside.
“Who was he?” she wondered spellbound. Her gaze transfixed at that empty balcony long after the man went inside.
For three months, she had not seen anyone come out on that balcony. A metaphor of her melancholic life. But today when that man stepped on to that balcony something shifted. The void filled itself.
It felt as if God himself sent him for her.
And then she smiled. For the first time in a very, very long time Saqeena smiled. And in that moment she forgot about her mother, her father, her siblings, the mister, the missus, the children. Her thoughts and her heart brimmed with the image of this man that had just appeared on the second floor building almost naked and unknowingly, into her world.
“Saqeena!! Good morning. Whenever you finish your tea, join me in the kitchen, we will start preparing breakfast.” The missus brought her back to reality.
But this time, her reality was a little different. Now there was a man in it. A man Saqeena believed was sent by God. So she gulped the last sip of tea, gave one final glance at that empty balcony and joined the missus in the kitchen to cut vegetables, a huge grin spreading across her face.
That night Saqeena could hardly sleep in anticipation of seeing that man again. She was up and standing on the balcony even before the sun had risen. She waited for more than an hour and a half before the man showed up again. Wearing nothing but his briefs.
And unlike yesterday, he brought a smile to her face instead of surprise. Her tense muscles relaxed. Her body loosened. She stood up straight, straining her neck to get a better look at the man. A wave of happiness quickly took over her entire body and her cheeks flushed red. It was as if Saqeena had seen an angel up close.
The man on the other hand hung his towel by the clothesline, looked up, noticed Saqeena bobbing left and right in excitement and went inside.
Saqeena let out a deep sigh and kept looking at the balcony until the missus woke up and called her for work. For the next several days, every morning Saqeena would wake up early, prepare herself a cup of tea and stand on the balcony waiting for the man to appear. The man would eventually show up in his briefs, hang his towel on the clothesline, look at Saqeena and leave.
Just as she had memorized every detail about the balcony once, Saqeena started absorbing the body of this man in her memory.
One body part at a time.
Those toned biceps.
Those veiny forearms.
That faintly hairy chest.
The bulge in his briefs.
Those slim yet symmetrical legs.
In her mind, Saqeena had fallen completely head over heels for the man she ogled daily while sipping her morning cup of tea.
“Saqeena, I am really happy that you have adapted to this new place. It is so nice to see you happy again,” the missus told Saqeena one day while she chopped vegetables in the kitchen.
Saqeena could only blush and nod in response.
Her missus had noticed what everyone else in the family had— that Saqeena had suddenly become happier. She no longer cried at night. She played with the children. She hummed while cleaning the house. And most importantly, now, she smiled and laughed.
“We really want you to know that we appreciate the sacrifice you have made for us. Please do let me know if you ever need anything” The missus told her kindly.
Like every morning, Saqeena was sitting & sipping tea on the balcony, waiting for that man to appear when that man came out again, as always, in his briefs, with a towel in his hand. He hung his wet towel on the clothesline and, as always, looked up at Saqeena. But this time, instead of going back inside, he waved. Lifting his hand high, he swung from side to side trying to get her attention.
Saqeena instinctively waved back, as if she had been waiting for this moment ever since she saw him for the first time.
He waved harder. Seeing him now waving with both hands, she joined in, giggling as she waved back with both of hers.
This went on for a couple of seconds, when the man stopped and gestured her to come by moving his fingers.
And then she realized. She was a woman.
She was not supposed to do that. Any moment the missus could arrive and catch her. She quickly lowered her hands and ran toward the kitchen just in time to grab an apple and a knife to cut before the missus arrived.
For the next week, she chose to sit on a chair on the other side of the balcony, deliberately trying to avoid the man on the second floor of the five-storied building.
After every sip she would look back at the wall that partitioned them and would turn back even quicker.
I should go talk to him.
Absolutely not. You are here for your family. Don’t mess it up.
But I do need to see him.
Absolutely not. It’s better that he goes away.
But I want to see his chest, shoulders, and his bulge in the briefs.
No, I can not resist.
“Saqeena! Saqeena!” The missus had to physically rock Saqeena out of her inner battles for days.
“Saqeena, what happens to you in the mornings? Throughout the day, you seem so chirpy, but in the mornings you seem lost. If I didn’t know you better, I would assume that you have fallen in love,” the missus jokingly taunted her.
Saqeena froze. Her hands stopped mid-air, the knife still hovering above the onions. Her heart felt soft, constricted.
It was as if she was hit with a reality wall.
YES.
SHE WAS IN LOVE.
She was in love with the man who appeared every day on that second-floor balcony of that five-storied building.
She was in love with how his chest had very little hair.
She was in love with how veiny his hands looked.
And she was in love with the bulge in his briefs.
Throughout the day she kept thinking about what missus had said.
The younger child spilled the milk. She wasn’t paying attention.
The elder child slipped on the spill. She wasn’t paying attention.
The salt was less in the chicken curry. She wasn’t paying attention.
From that day on Saqeena would think of only him – every waking second.
In the morning she would wave back at him as he waved at her.
During the day even though she did everything faster, she wasn’t present.
The family had begun to notice her staring at herself in the mirror, longer than usual.
They noticed the jump in her step.
They noticed the twinkle in her eye.
They noticed the glow on her face.
They noticed that she seemed very happy.
“Did you know when you came here for the first time, you looked so sad,” the younger child told Saqeena one day.
“Yes, didi, but now you look so happy. We are so glad that you are happy.”
the elder child added softly.
And Saqeena realised they were right.
Ever since she had met this man, she had forgotten about her family. The sadness of leaving them had lifted.
She no longer yearned to go back to Kolkata.
All she wanted now was to be with the man on the balcony.
For once in her life she had dreams that she thought she could achieve.
What are dreams?
Who is allowed to dream?
Who should dream?
Are dreams really a tool to take you into another reality, or to pull us away from the one we live in?
Saqeena didn’t know, and she no longer cared.
So she sat by the window of the train from Delhi to Kolkata watching as the city gave way to fields. She asked herself with extreme heaviness in heart, “What did I do wrong that I am being punished?”
“All I did was to think about my happiness. I dared to dream.”
“Saqeena, beta, I know how you must be feeling,” the missus sitting next to her broke the silence.
Saqeena nodded.
“Beta, I know you loved that man. And I am sure that he loved you back. But….”
The missus’s voice faded into the distance as Saqeena recalled what had happened to her in the last 48 hours. How, one morning instead of waving back, the man beckoned her to come to him and Saqeena, without giving a second thought, simply followed.
She remembered leaving quietly for his house while the children were at school and the parents at work, thinking she would return before anyone noticed.
But how she lost track of time when the man took her in his arms.
She remembered their laughter, their whispered words, their bodies pressed together, their fragile dreams of a shared tomorrow.
When she finally realized that she was late, she ran back only to find the mister and missus worried, sitting on the sofa, pale, trying to frantically call people to find where she had gone.
She remembered telling them everything.
And how, after a long silence, they called her parents and decided to send her back to Kolkata the very next day.
Now, once again, she sat on that same train — dreading to return to the very place she had once cried to leave.
In the end, Saqeena realized she could seek happiness only in her dreams.
Dreams were all she had — the only solace left to her.
