Recently, I had a vivid dream, a dream so vivid that it left a lasting impression, so vivid that every detail is still fresh, a dream so vivid that I decided to write it down.
First, the setting, I was in a garden, lush green, a deep dark green, beautiful flowers, some trees. Small square garden. From the garden there were steps leading to a house. White marble steps, suspended in mid air almost. The house was a one room affair, again suspended in air. Predominant colour brown. Brown roof. Brown sofas. Glass side tables. Bookshelves filled with books.
I had come to the house looking for a friend, he wasn’t there. His mother greeted me, and since it was a summer’s day, offered me lemonade.
We took the lemonade to the steps, and sat there, enjoying the view. A white cat with a leopard’s colours on the forehead and tail, was playing in the garden.
I quoted something of Ghalib’s ( my favourite poet). She was pleasantly surprised, a fellow fan. She started reciting a Ghazal ( she said it was Ghalib’s). Beautiful words I had never heard before. I was mesmerised. Then I realised that I must be dreaming, and must not forget the Ghazal on waking up ; at the same time, it hit me that this wasn’t Ghalib, and if it wasn’t Ghalib, it was me. As soon as I knew this, the dream unravelled. I woke up.

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