1.

 

I had a child once, and it was called Dream. This Dream had a dream, and it was to be somebody. 

Dream wanted to do things. She wanted to be seen, talked to, and talked about. I told her it was difficult, that there were too many Dreams out and about anyway, but she would not listen. 

Dream was a polite kid, however, and she didn’t want to waste anyone’s time by being just another Dream. So she practiced and practiced in our dark lonely home, jumping hoops and hanging from handlebars even as I munched on chips and patted the bed in my sleep. In time, she learnt to do push-ups with a single toe and nail a fly from three thousand meters. It was time to unleash her on the world. 

Dream wanted to go far, and when we got there, we found a long line already waiting. Everyone in the queue was a child-parent pair, and there were a great many Dreams there. There were Moneys, Jobs, and Compulsions too, and one child was even named Why-not? The parents seemed shy and reluctant, avoiding each other’s gaze, whereas the children were too lost in their thoughts to offer conversation. 

The line moved at a very slow pace, and after a long time, when we reached its head, we found a great and magnificent creature called the gatekeeper. The child behind Dream was called Passion, and he told us the gatekeeper used to be just like the children once, before she was picked out and put on a thankless job due to her abilities. The gatekeeper had great empathy, and even greater experience, which made her uniquely suited for a job where everyone, including herself, would hate her at times. 

“It is true,” I told Dream. “It is because the gatekeeper maintains quality you even have a place to go. If everyone could go in whenever they wanted, nobody would even show up to these shows, and that would be the end of you.” 

“You’ll be fine,” assured Passion. “The gatekeeper wants an authentic voice. She wants a story that could be told by no one else. And no one else can do push-ups on a single toe. Just be yourself.” 

Dream looked happy. Then it was her turn. The gatekeeper looked tired and frazzled, having to look through so many children vying for the same place. She still found a smile, though, and said, “Tell me what you’re about.” 

She was talking to Passion, looking directly above Dream’s head. They were both surprised, and “Me?” Dream had to ask. 

“Oh, sorry!” the gatekeeper said. “I didn’t even see you! What’s your name, sweetheart?” 

“Dream?” she said when she had been told. “Dream... I have never seen a Dream from your area. What an unusual name, Dream — for your area, that is. So, what can you do?” 

“Um, I can juggle thirty-three balls,” said Dream. She was quite nervous, but she had also been practicing for so long that her hands would be able to keep them just afloat. 

“Thirty-three... balls, you said? Thirty-three balls,” the gatekeeper looked around, but Dream had come prepared, and she started taking all thirty-three out of her pockets. 

“What else can you do?” the gatekeeper asked, watching the balls soar and drop in spirals. 

“I could jump hoops upside down and do push-ups on a single toe!” Dream had a bit of a sweat and a smile now. This was her — these were her countless nights spent alone. “Whoa!” said Passion. 

“Couldn’t you... couldn’t you sing a song? You know, like a nursery rhyme? Or wear a green dress and spin round and around?” the gatekeeper seemed at a loss. 

“I — I am not sure.” 

“You know what? Come on Saturday. I might just find someone interested in push-ups on Saturday.” 

A minor co-incidence, surely. A bad day to turn up, by no means the end of the world. Passion was turned down too, on account of being too gullible and not complex enough. “It can’t all be red and red,” the gatekeeper informed him. “Don’t be so easy to read.” 

We lingered for a moment, letting the children reset their minds, and watched the five next to be turned away, all until one was let through. Greenie, her name was — she wore a green frock and spun around to the music of a radio song. She was very cute — I will be honest. She couldn’t do push-ups like Dream or bleed like a firehose in Passion’s fashion — she was just a kid. A tiny, scared, simple bumbling kid — and that was charming. Even I found myself transfixed for a moment, before I saw Dream frown and look down. 

“Will I ever be like her?” she whispered. 

“You’re like you,” Passion the ever helpful said. “Even if no one else in the world appreciates you, I will always know who you are.” 

“But it’s not just you,” Dream protested. “There are people, I know, who will find my push-ups and hoop-jumps cool. I want to do those things. I don’t want to spin around in a green frock.” 

“Try again, and keep trying,” I said. 

“I’ll be here for you,” Passion said. 

And so, we went our way.

​

2.

 

It was Saturday then, and an eclectic crowd had gathered before the stage. Body-building enthusiasts, calisthenics experts, and juggling hobbyists crowded the stands. The queue outside the auditorium was shorter today, but not by much. The gatekeeper looked more liberal now, but it was in a scary way. 

A boy named Whitenstein, Ph.D. strutted the stage today. He roved to the rhythm of a nursery rhyme and juggled three balls with his feet. It took some time for us to get to the front of the line, but Dream had been hyping herself up in the meantime. She began juggling her thirty-three balls even before the gatekeeper had spared her a glance. 

“Uhm, can’t you do some push-ups?” she asked Dream following a small jolt of recognition. 

“I can,” Dream was only too glad to go on her toe. 

The gatekeeper sighed. “Can you do it on two toes?” 

“Okay.” It had been some time since Dream had tried two, but it worked. 

“Good. Good.” The gatekeeper seemed satisfied. “How about twelve? Can you try twelve?” 

Dream could. But she didn’t want to. If she did that, she would not be herself anymore. So she looked at the gatekeeper, slightly sad. And the gatekeeper looked at her, slightly sad. No one said anything. The silence was deafening, and the odd breath or sigh even more so. Dream didn’t want to leave, and the gatekeeper didn’t ask her to leave, so in time, she picked herself up and skulked back into a dark place, from where she could see everyone else. 

Was the gatekeeper singularly hard to please for Dream? No one could say that, because she dismissed with equal equanimity the boy growing a nail from his skin, the girl who could make the plants talk, and the robot that could break its arm off, only to retrieve it from the gatekeeper’s tiffin box, crying “Magic!” 

A girl in red passed through, though. Her name was Reddie, and she could spin spritefully to the voice of a well-known speech by an old philosopher. 

“Auntie?” Dream said softly. “You said you wanted an original voice. I can do one-toed push-ups. Won’t you give me a chance? Perhaps, next Saturday?” 

But next Saturday was Yelloe’s turn, and the Saturday after that Blackish got in. They wore their yellow frocks and black shirts and spun round and around until the stars screamed “To be or not to be?” 

“Now that is something. A profound saying. Simple, elegant, proven. The crowds will love it,” the gatekeeper was content. 

“Auntie, will I never get in?” Dream asked her, now that her toe had grown twofold from all the push-ups she had done while watching others. 

“I don’t know,” the gatekeeper said. “You’re very talented. But a single toed push-up — what would the audience think? It would be so surprising for them, and it would make many of them feel bad about themselves. If you’re making them feel bad, what’s even the point?” 

“But I have my own voice. That nobody else could —” 

“Yeah, but so does that boy, and so does that girl. She can’t even stand without a tripod, whereas he could easily float in the air.” 

“But. I am sure, Auntie, there are some people in the audience. Some people who want to see a push-up. Some people like me. I want them to have me. I want to have them, too.” 

“And there are some people who want an invalid, girl. And some people who want a levitator. Why should you get in and not them?” 

“Because... because.” Dream’s voice was getting smaller and smaller now, and an edge of irritation was creeping into the gatekeeper’s usually kind eyes. 

“I want you to get in,” she said. “I am not in your way. But who should I let pass, and who should I stop? There is such a sea of faces, and all of you want your own stage. I have a responsibility to the audience. The audience is king.” 

“But it’s a Saturday,” Dream persisted. “Saturdays are for the original voices. You said so yourself!” 

“You think you could do it better, huh? I don’t even know why I picked this goddamn job,” the gatekeeper muttered, making even Dream look ashamed of herself.

​

3.

 

Dream didn’t think herself a special kid, so she could only keep trying. We went there on Saturdays, and on Fridays when laughter was in high demand, and on Tuesdays when a bit of steam wouldn’t have been amiss. The results never varied, however, and in time, we only went there on alternate Saturdays, and then only once every three months. 

Dream kept getting thinner and thinner, and the calluses on her toe were bigger than her feet now. She would be doing push-ups in her dreams and speaking affirmations when she should be eating. “Would I never be enough?” she would ask again and again when she thought I wouldn’t hear, “I will never be like Greenie or Yelloe. Is there no place on this world for me?” Her place was with me, but what consolation would that have been? 

Her face became sallow like a washcloth in time, and her heart held all the hope of a coal mine. She could no longer do a push-up without whimpering, and perchance she curled a toe, sleep would not come to her for three days. She withdrew her words from me, becoming silent and invisible, and finally, one day, she disappeared from my life. 

I couldn’t find her anywhere, but still searched and searched, until I saw her standing before the gatekeeper. She wore a green frock now, resplendent in her gap-toothed smile. The gatekeeper smiled back, too, and waved her hand. Dream spun and spun, lightly at first, then beautifully, to one of our beloved radio songs. I found myself mesmerized for the moment. 

Did she have wings? Dream, my only dream, she was beautiful. But I had always known that, and only on the eve of her leaving me forever and becoming another’s did I realize it. There, as she revolved and twisted in the sunlight, was there the glint of a toe bending itself? Were the thirteen balls juggling so fast they seemed like thirty-three? Was one of her hops so well executed it could have been through a hoop, upside down? 

Dream was not leaving me. She was going past the gatekeeper, now beaming and clapping, and once on the stage, she would bring her real wares out and invite me in. She took one step after another, and just as she put her hand on the doorknob, the gatekeeper spoke. 

“Dear Dream. I was quite interested in taking a look through your wonderful presentation,” she said, and Dream broke out in a slight smile. 

“However, and this quite pains me to say it, it does not comport with our current plans and schedules. We wish you the best, however, and I will always be happy to look through your performances in the future.” 

Dream stilled, stilted, and turned around. 

“Please, aunty?” she asked, already knowing the answer, half a tear already trapped in her eye. 

Then, even before the gatekeeper could formulate a response, Dream lunged at the door and started to pull like a madwoman. She was small, and the door would not give, but would it have, eventually? 

The gatekeeper was too dumbfounded at first, and then she slammed into Dream, holding her by the shoulders and taking her to the ground. “You stupid girl, why won’t you listen to me?” she screamed. 

Dream looked at the door, the space beyond, and knew that going beyond the gatekeeper was her only hope. She pulled on the gatekeeper’s hair and poked her finger into her mouth, pulling it right. The gatekeeper slapped her, and punched her on the nose when Dream strangled her throat. 

“This toe,” she grabbed a hold of Dream’s callus and ranted, “This toe is the whole problem! Why, oh why wouldn’t you just take care of it?” She pulled on it and it broke. Then Dream also grabbed it and broke the toe. Then she broke it again, and again, and splintered and fractured it all over. Then she punched her own throat, ripped her nose apart, and pulled all her hair out. She shoved her elbow down her own throat, making all her teeth fall inside in the process. She beat her flesh until it was a blotchy red and broke all her bones until she could only crawl forward like a salted worm. She could go through the door unopposed now, but chose to break all her remaining fingers and toes by slamming them on the ground. Dream still breathed, however, and therefore, she feasted furiously on mouthfuls of dirt until her eyes coloured brown, and a faint thrumming was all that remained of her. 

The gatekeeper was standing now, horrified, afraid to take more than two steps back. She looked back over her shoulder helplessly. I shrugged. A crowd had formed through the cracks in the door, and now they covered the naked flesh of my Dream, not knowing how to react. A boy called Redden had been performing on the stage, and had joined the people when they did not stay back to watch him. He was the first to clap, bright and resplendent in the sun, standing apart even among everybody. 

The crowd broke out in applause.