Some Dreams are Drafts

Vegetables and Websites

Summer, 2016
Mumbai

Bhavika was learning to drive. Finally. All the failed attempts of her mother to motivate her to find the time for driving lessons with her, during her college days hadn't been failures in persuasion but just a matter of priorities. And anxieties.

Bhavika hadn't learnt to ride the bicycle. She always preferred staying at home, reading a novel to getting on it. Besides, she was terrified, every time she rode it. She couldn't concentrate and had vivid memories of falling every single time she tried to balance.

She regrets not trying harder when she was a child. Had she gotten over her fear of riding a two wheeler then, it would have been easier for her to learn how to drive an Activa, today. But it turns out that some fears follow you into your adulthood.

The only thing Bhavika cherished about the perils of balancing, maintaining a constant speed with gigantic cars around you was that she would get to see her mother's face light up every time she did something right.

Her mother was never that happy when it came to academic laurels but doing something right in the practical world, be it even as mundane as counting the change correctly after giving a 500 rupee note, would make Sharada Goradia, the proudest mother.

And Bhavika loved seeing her mother get excited about a turn she took correctly, or the speed breaker she went over without speeding.

Oh, how adorably alag my mother is, Bhavika found herself thinking.

The best part about these driving lessons was that they'd take place in the evening, after her mother was back from work and the two would set off on the Activa, with Sharada’s hair tied in a sleek ponytail and Bhavika’s untied curls allowing breeze to waft through them.

They were purchasing their daily groceries from their most trusted vegetable vendor, Veena Tai, fondly called sister even though most locals called her Veena Vaini which meant sister in law but was sometimes used by Mumbai locals to refer to an elder woman, especially a vendor.

Bhavika was examining a ladies finger, slightly confused whether to choose it or let it go. These rules of buying fresh and tasteful veggies were easy to forget if you weren't a regular, like her. She looked at her mother for assistance and reminder of what made a bhindi good enough.

As Sharada demonstrated the dos and don'ts of purchasing ladies finger, while laying special emphasis on the texture, Bhavika’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Once. Twice. Thrice. Until it continued vibrating, so much so that Veena Tai’s smile widened and her gaze softened.

“Must be your friends, no?” She said, knowing that Bhavika had just finished giving her final exams a couple of weeks ago and was now what people called, a ‘fresh graduate.’

Bhavika smiled back. “I think so. It's a bit weird talking to them only on phone instead of meeting them everyday.”

“But what's the problem? You can't meet them everyday now? Why they stay far kya?” She asked.

A stranger, unfamiliar with the bond Bhavika shared with Veena Tai would find the latter’s questions prying. But Bhavika did not. Veena Tai had taken liberties in knowing Bhavika through her questions, ever since Bhavika was a small child. Selling vegetables, standing in the scorching heat of April that no umbrella could protect you from, the only saving grace for Veena Tai were customers like Sharada and her daughter.

People who were willing to talk to Veena and make her feel a little more human and a little less tired.

Besides, Bhavika had always liked Veena Tai and her genuineness and warmth.

“Yes, Kaku. All of them stay in different parts of Mumbai. Central line, Harbor Line, Western line sab mix!”

Veena Tai let out a laugh as she weighed the bhindis. Sharada noted the wistfulness in Bhavika’s voice and reached out to squeeze her daughter's arm.

Oh, these young children. If only life had a better way of teaching you things rather than using its weapon of change every single time, Sharada thought.

Before she could say a word aloud, Bhavika let out a squeal and then slapped a hand on her mouth, momentarily embarrassed before giggling out aloud, again.

“Baapre, what happened?” Sharada asked.

“The PnD department, Photography and Documentation department, Mummy, uploaded our Farewell party photos!! Finally. It took them six days but they did it.”

Sharada shook her head, a grin on her face, evident that she was glad to be greeted with the enthusiasm she was so dearly familiar with.

Off late, Bhavika had seemed a bit worried. About the future. She did not know what she wanted to do with her degree in Psychology and Sociology. Which field to specialise in. Whether to specialise or not. And a whole lot of questions that had been bothering her.

As they made their way to the house, Sharada heard Bhavika mutter under her breath. “It's 2016 and these people still upload pictures first on Facebook and then hours later on Instagram.”

Bhavika was scrolling through Facebook with hawk eyes, when her eyes landed on something vintage.

Something old school. Something that one would certainly find on Facebook but not Instagram.

A poster of “Mail-mates.com” along with a write-up about the newly launched website stared at Bhavika, invitingly.

But Bhavika was too invested in looking at the pictures of her peers to pay it any heed, so she scrolled. And scrolled.

Little did she know that this would be one of the many times she'd be shown the post. Until that one moment, late at night with 12 tabs open on her laptop, Bhavika would find herself reading.

“24 year old British developers, Hannah and Mark, launched a new website this Saturday, named, Mail-mates. It is quintessentially a pen pal system just via email, the duo told us. We are certainly excited to register ourselves on the platform and connect with someone. Anyone. Bringing the old school charm of writing to someone across the globe, sharing the little joys of your life, back, Mail-mates promises to slow life a little while making it exciting, one mail at a time.”

Hmm, how intriguing, Bhavika thought.

Her fingers lingered on her mouse, as she thought about the possibility of finding friendship online. It was too alluring. And the last time Bhavika had done something impulsive was in the company of her best friend. Emboldened by the memory of Nehal, Bhavika opened the website.