I contain the dreams of a child; the dreams of a talented child. The little girl? Her name is Vancha. I am carrying her first poem, which is going to be published. It is called ‘Mysteries of the universe’.

I just got dropped into a post-box in the Subramanyapura locality of Bangalore City. I will soon be travelling from this suburban place in Bangalore to a place in the eastern region of my country.

My destination is Kolkata, the city of writers and painters. A city of great divides. Here, the spiritual locks horn with a grossly materialistic culture and loss of religion. Yet, this city gives rise to visions. There is a certain queer intensity of life, which can be experienced only in Kolkata.

I am going there to an editor, a retired bureaucrat, who has spent more time writing and editing than doing bureaucratic work. The government job fed his body, and the writing feeds his soul. He is a happy old man sans family. His books are his family, his children, his lover, and his wife, but he has no regrets because he feels that he is destined for immortality.

I am carrying this precious poem of this little one. The editor intends to publish the poem in order to encourage the young dreamer.

The post woman will be collecting me in the morning at 11:00 am, and then I will be taken to the Subramanyapura post office. From there, I will be taken to the General Post Office. From there, I will be taken to the Bangalore railway station, where I will meet my friends, the other letters from different places in Bangalore and soon, we shall embark on a train journey in the railway mail service coaches. I shall be spending happy hours with my friends as I will be carried forward from place to place over hills, rivers, and dales. I will soon reach the city of dreamy writers and intellectual progress. I am aware of my duties. I am an envelope with a letter carrying dreams.

First  Published in September 2018 issue of WEC.

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