Welcome to the real world?

Ages ago, when I used to be a little girl, I used to be quite fruity.

Yes, bonkers, if you please.

So looking at those cotton-wool clouds, with the sun streaming through, the whole deal looking like a painting (absurd similie this, comparing the real flesh and blood sky to an unreal, albeit exquisite painting as if the latter were the actual and the former just a pale comparison), I used to imagine feeling a strange stirring in my chest - like somebody was calling out to me from the over and beyond. Yes, really. Hazards of an over-active imagination and a curiously romantic take on life.

Just the other day, watching the Alice movie, brought back memories of the time I had read the book - Wonderland and The Looking Glass and how much I had loved it. The inane conversations, the ridiculous but extremely hilarious and clever poetry - The Walrus and the Carpenter and A-sitting on a Gate (if I remember correctly) and many many more, it was all rather brilliant. I would hugely identify with this Alice chippie, spending more time day-dreaming than anything else. Ruchi DD was my moniker for sometime (for those who don't know, Ruchi is my nick, my parents call me that). I remember growing up getting into all sorts of troubles due to this habit of mine to switch off from the here and now, with a dreamy glazed look coming over, so that several ditches, manholes etc had the pleasure of warming my butt over the years, many poles suddenly found themselves looming horribly out of nowhere and getting attached to my person and various detours were taken on the way to or back from somewhere simply because I never knew directions, too busy dreaming. I also remember at a point of time feeling like it was all a bit much and that I should attempt taking on a more normal hobby which didn't interfere with the other important functions of my existence. That is when I started rationing out time for these metaphysical musings. Insane, totally insane is what I call it now.

I still suffer from a hyper active imagination, and so it happens that I dream every night. Everybody does perhaps, but I even remember my dreams and they mostly feature people I know, engaging in strange activities which may have some connection with my deepest darkest thoughts and fears, or so would Freud have me believe. I remember some of my dreams from ten years back too. The subconscious in my case is a living, breathing humongous hippopotamus.

I can just go on and on. There are many and hundreds of tales which prove beyond doubt that I was a special kid. Still waters, rippling with the sub-surface tensions of growing up, listening, absorbing, reflecting and holding it all within, juxtaposing all these images into a rich alternate universe to where I would retreat at the slightest opportunity. Always a little disdainful of the real world.