We are all prisoner of our dreams. Sitting at a park's bench, the fence separated us from the Ocean. We are happy sitting on this side, happy to keep away from the waves and face the music.
"It all started a few years back, when the aircraft pilot died. In fact, a lot of pilots die at a very young age. Even before they are eligible for a two-wheeler's driving license. Then there was the architect who wanted to design a new city. He died rather late, at an age of fifteen. The fear of blood killed the doctor at almost the same time. And now, a year later, the cricketer joined them in the heaven. The increasing burden of academics were taking its toll on my dreams and the board exams were now only a couple of months away. The matter was worsened by the team paceman, Raju, whose full pitched ball hit me on my right foot and barred me from playing for a few weeks. I never knew that was the end of it all. The cricketer died though the game lived on inside me."
