Unpacking Dreams

The sun cast soft shadows through the half-open window, illuminating the chaos of my new Delhi apartment. “Hii Shikha, can I call you in a bit?” I had just moved from Gurgaon, and the disarray of boxes felt like a metaphor for my life—scattered, unformed, and in desperate need of attention. With a sigh, I silenced my phone after our brief exchange and turned back to the daunting task of unpacking.

“Ah, where do I even begin?” I muttered to myself. I was Sonam, an engineering graduate who had embarked on the relentless journey of the civil services exam four times—each attempt a testament to hope and, ultimately, to disappointment. The weight of perceived failure wrapped around me like a heavy cloak, and doubt began to settle in. Should I abandon this path? Should I pursue my passion for interior design instead? The thought of sharing this with Papa tightened my chest. He would respond with the same well-worn refrain: “Focus! Focus! Focus!”

It wasn’t that I lacked dedication; rather, it felt as if my enthusiasm had faded, replaced by a gray fog of indifference. Lost in this whirlwind of thoughts, my phone buzzed again, startling me from my reverie. Papa was calling.

“Is the unpacking done?” His voice rang with expectation, as familiar as the echo of my own insecurities.

“No, Papa, there’s still more to do.” The words felt like a flimsy shield against the reality of my fatigue—the fatigue of pretending, of being the daughter he wanted me to be. I longed to voice my doubts, to reveal the turmoil swirling within me, but silence swallowed my truth. Why did I stay quiet?

After we hung up, I flicked my phone to airplane mode, craving a moment of stillness. Just then, the doorbell chimed—a welcome interruption. It was Rahul, my friend-turned-neighbor, bearing the enticing aroma of biryani.

We had crossed paths a year ago at the National School of Drama, where fate had whimsically woven our lives together. I still remembered that night: he had misplaced his pass, and our conversation had blossomed into a connection that transcended mere coincidence.

As he set the lunchbox down in the kitchen, Rahul wandered through my 1BHK, his curiosity piqued. He paused at the wide window, a portal to the outside world. “Sonam! Come here! You have to see this!”

“What is it?” I replied, my voice trailing off. “Can’t it wait? I really need to finish unpacking.”

“No! You need to see this now!” His excitement was infectious, pulling me from my cluttered thoughts.

Reluctantly, I stepped to his side. “What is it?” I asked, feigning disinterest.

He pointed outside. “Look! Do you see those two lives?”

To clarify, Rahul wasn’t mad; we weren’t trapped in some surreal time warp. Beyond my window lay a vibrant playground, where boys chased dreams under the open sky, their laughter rising like the sun. They practiced hockey with an innocence that mirrored our own childhood yearnings: “We want to grow up fast!”

“And now, look at you,” he continued, turning his gaze back to my world. “Why don’t you talk to your father? I can see you struggling through sleepless nights, fueled only by caffeine and anxiety, caught in the grip of social media’s unrelenting expectations. Who truly cares for the mental health of aspirants?”

Rahul’s words flowed like a river, and I let them wash over me, not wanting to interrupt his stream of thoughts. Yet, beneath his concerns, a question pulsed in my mind: Was it a crime to prioritize my dreams over my parents’ expectations?

In that moment, with the vibrant playground stretching beyond my window and the comforting scent of biryani filling the air, I felt a flicker of clarity. Perhaps it was time to unpack not just the boxes scattered around me but also the dreams buried deep within my heart. Maybe, just maybe, I could create a life that intertwined my desires with my duties—a tapestry rich with color, freedom, and possibility.