The Dream Reader and Other Stories

By Asheesh Mamgain

In the hustle of a bustling city, countless souls tread their mundane paths day in and day out. Yet, amidst the monotony, there comes a moment in someone’s life that transcends the ordinary. These stories gather such moments, at times infusing them with a touch of magical realism. Like when a man goes looking for a Dream Reader to decipher his recurring dream, or when a famous actor devises a plan to get some time away from the limelight. At times, it is an emotional journey – a businessman looking for salvation in the eyes of a beggar, an upper-middle-class woman trying to find strength in her housemaid and more. The stories resonate with city dwellers seeking meaning amidst the chaos, both in their surroundings and within themselves. 

Often, the reader finds themselves not merely a passive observer, but an active participant, entrusted with the task of imbuing these tales with their own interpretation. These narratives belong to every urban dweller, serving as mirrors reflecting the complexities of existence and inviting contemplation on the mysteries of life in a city.   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Rose Publishers
• Release date: Mar 15, 2024

Book preview

The Man Who Lost the Bet

This bar in the middle of Connaught Place, the central business district of New Delhi, sported a vacant look. Though the dimly lit interiors made it difficult to gauge at first glance that most tables were unoccupied.

The tables with their well-cushioned chairs were divided into two matching sections. The extensive-looking bar with high stools was located at the end of the line of tables, which were all unoccupied except for one, where Siddharth was settled, nursing his first drink.

The middle-aged portly man manning the bar was busy meticulously polishing the glasses, the cloth gliding over each surface with a practised grace, leaving them gleaming under the soft bar lights. He had neatly combed hair, bushy eyebrows and a clean shaven face that carried a grim expression. He was wearing a maroon coloured waistcoat over a white shirt.

At 8 pm it was too early for the bar to get busy. Most of the clients would start sauntering into the pub around 9 and after. By that time Siddharth would be nearing his Janakpuri home, located in the south-western part of the city. It was a typical middle class residential colony, which when established was considered to be located at the outskirts of the city. But over the years with rapid urban expansion, the city had now grown much beyond Janakpuri. Now back to the bar where our story is brimming to spill over.

Only a few young company executives were settled on one of the tables. They were having an animated discussion about something related to their office. They were all formally dressed except that they had all removed their coats. Two had even removed their neckties though the other two had just loosened them. They were having a round of the cheapest whisky at this ‘happy hour’ taking advantage of the ‘one plus one’ offer on drinks. The scene was completed by a couple of waiters involved in a quiet conversation at the back of the bar. They did not have much to do. It was a quiet hour.

The person manning the bar knew Siddharth well, as he was one of the regulars here, irrespective of the fact that he rarely stayed here for more than half an hour. This half an hour that he spent at the bar was quite predictable in its activity. He always had just two pegs of his favourite brand of whiskey and preferred being left alone. The bartender knew it well and did not disturb him beyond the customaries.

He worked in the marketing department of a prominent media house. It was a high pressure job that often drained him completely by evening. On particularly stressful days he needed a drink or two before he could gather the strength to drive home through the thick office hour traffic. This bar was close to his office, was relatively quiet during these early hours and was also not overly expensive. In all, it was near perfect for him.

Siddharth was attired in a black business suit with the necktie’s knot loosened considerably. He must have been in his mid-30s and had gathered some flab around his waist. A sure and common sign of lack of physical activity, as is the reality of the lives of many young executives, in this cosmopolitan city. His thinning crop of hair was ruffled due to the repeated running of fingers through them. Siddharth did that occasionally, as his means to tackle accumulating stress. He was fair, and had a soft round face. He seemed quite presentable. But that would be only in the morning hours, now he looked haggard. He was contemplating the ice cube floating in his drink when a man came and sat next to him.

Siddharth just took a customary glance at the man and was back to concentrating on the ice cube. The man already carried a drink in his hand, which seemed like vodka with lime cordial. He settled in his seat without making even the slightest of sounds and kept his drink at the bar. After a brief moment, he took a sip from his drink. A smile appeared on his face. Siddharth did not notice that smile.

There is nothing like a good drink at the end of a hard day’s work, said the man.

Siddharth, having gathered that he was being addressed, lifted his head and gave a feeble smile, which also seemed laborious and forced.

Though he did not feel like replying to this stranger, still for the sake of courtesy he reciprocated the man’s comment with Yes, that is quite true. The man gave out a huge and eager smile the moment Siddharth had finished his words. It was as if he was just waiting for a reply and the moment he got it, he pounced on it.

He seemed ready with his response and spoke immediately. And then one has to drive through the thick rush hour traffic to get home. By the time one reaches home he is good for nothing, said the man. A broad smile appeared on his face the moment he had finished his sentence.

Siddharth was never too keen on striking up conversations with strangers. He was mostly preoccupied with his work and family matters. At work, with his rapidly rising position in the company, came heavy responsibilities. Couple that with the added responsibility at home of his 3 year old kid and a working wife, and he had hardly any time and thought left for anything else.

You are very right there, said Siddharth. Only after giving this predictable reply did Siddharth give careful attention to the man sitting next to him. The man seemed to be of Siddharth’s age, of wheatish complexion, and rather tall & lean. He had a very prominent sharp nose, a big mouth with an even bigger smile and a thick crop of black hair. He wore a formal light blue shirt and a green necktie that had an imprint of a blazing red dragon on it. Unlike Siddharth, the man had not loosened his tie knot one bit. He looked eager and raring to go.

The man seemed encouraged by the little attention he got from Siddharth.

Myself S.M. Nagarajan, friends call me Naga, said the man and extended his hand towards Siddharth. Siddharth shook the eager, lean hand of Nagarajan and for the very first time noticed the effervescent smile on his face.

Immediately Nagarajan started talking. He introduced himself as a financial advisor in an investment firm with its office at Barakhamba Road, Connaught Place, and the major part of his work being related to investing client money in the market.

Where do you stay, if I may ask? said Nagarajan.

Janakpuri. It is at the other end of the town, said Siddharth.

Oh yes, I know. I stay at Dwarka, which is a little further than Janakpuri, though in the same general direction. It takes me a good one hour plus to reach home. I guess you do it in 45 minutes.

Siddharth considered Nagarajan’s reply for a brief moment, weighed whether he should respond or not and then he said, No mate, it takes me at least one hour to reach home. During peak hours it can extend by another 20 minutes.

Nagarajan was quick in his reply and more so eager, No sir, it is not possible. I am sure it would not take anyone more than 45 minutes to reach Janakpuri and that stands for peak hours as well.

Trust me on this. I know it. I do it every day, responded Siddharth, in the tone of a man who is trying to suppress his irritation with a manufactured veil of calm.

Excuse me for saying it, but I can bet you on this, said Nagarajan, with a wide smile. As he said it, Siddharth could see the exuberance on Nagarajan’s face. He perceived a glint in his dark eyes, which said,

Come on, I would love you to take this bet. Nagarajan picked up his drink for the first time since he sat with Siddharth. He took a quick sip and continued to hold it in his hand as he watched Siddharth’s face, awaiting a response.

I am not the kind who bets even though the odds are overwhelmingly in my favour. Like in this case, where I am sure to win if I bet on it, said Siddharth.

If you are sure that you will win then you should bet on it. Let us not bet money as that spoils the fun. People get too sensitive when it comes to money. I have an idea that, I have no doubt, would suit you pretty well, as it would suit me if I win.

Siddharth’s mind was working as he studied this stranger sitting next to him. This man is enjoying it. Either he is a compulsive bettor or he has some other evil motive. He thought for a brief while. He was curious. But he had his doubts and misgivings as well.

He asked, OK, what do you have in mind? Siddharth had decided to take a plunge into the unknown, even though a bit tentatively.

In a quick reaction to what Siddharth had said, Nagarajan’s lips parted to create a bright and big smile. It's pretty simple, he began, still smiling.

See you say the journey from your office to your home takes at least an hour and at times even more. I say that it could be done in less than 45 minutes. So, if I drive you in my car from your office to your home in anything less than 45 minutes, I am the winner. If it takes more then you are the winner. But it should be my car as I am more comfortable driving it. I think this is justified.

And what are we betting for, if not for money? asked Siddharth.

I am sure you will like this. If you win, then I will drive you to your office in Connaught Place, and then to your home, in my car for a whole week. If I win you do the same. As our office timings are similar, it should not be a problem. In case of any problem the loser should adjust his timings.

And when do we play? asked Siddharth.

Right now! It is 8:30 and the traffic should be pretty thick. I will drive you home, said Nagarajan. Siddharth believed in playing it safe, in doing the ordinary in a normal way. But somehow, the idea proposed by this stranger got him a little excited. Siddharth had not experienced this kind of excitement for a long while. The kind of excitement you get while doing something different from the normal routine.

All the while that Siddharth was experiencing this long forgotten feeling of excitement within himself, the other side of his brain was working hard to measure up Nagarajan. This part of his brain he always depended upon whenever an important decision was to be made, be it work or personal life. It told him what is safe and what is not. What is a more logical and practically correct move in any given situation. Nagarajan was under Siddharth’s scrutiny. Siddharth was thinking. What could he possibly want? Doesn’t seem to be a criminal sort but these days one could never tell. It would be wiser to be careful. But what the heck, what could go wrong? Nothing is binding on me and I know this city like the back of my hand. Siddharth had decided. All right! Let’s go for it, he said.

Siddharth parked his car in his office premises and stepped into Nagarajan’s car, a small gleaming cherry red car of Korean make, one of the many small cars that are very popular in the city these days.

Siddharth noticed a small golden idol of some god installed in the middle of the dashboard. He figured it was some deity worshipped in the southern part of the country. Even though he could not identify the deity, the presence of the idol gave him a reassuring feeling.

Soon Nagarajan was giving his attention to the idol as well. He brought both his hands in the general direction of the feet of the deity and then touched his chest. He repeated this action in quick succession several times, all the while muttering something under his breath. It was clearly some religious ritual, which one does more out of habit and without putting any mind to it. It was clear that it was something he did every time he drove his car.

Once done with the ritual, Nagarajan turned to look at Siddharth, gave out a wide grin and thrust the car key into the ignition. The car engine came alive immediately.

All the best sir, Nagarajan said in a cheerful and clear voice. Then again Nagarajan touched the driving wheel lightly with the fingertips of both his hands and touched his chest. This too was done a few times in quick succession. Then he turned his face to look at Siddharth, gave a broad smile, pressed the accelerator, released the clutch and they were on the move.

Just a couple of minutes into the drive and Siddharth knew that Nagarajan was a dexterous driver. He seemed to be concentrating hard. His driving could not be termed as fast, but brisk, busy and intelligent. He seemed to possess the instinct which tells a driver how to break through the traffic and how to wriggle out of tight spots. Three things remained more or less constant throughout the journey. Thick traffic, words coming out of Nagarajan’s mouth and a wide grin on his face. A couple of times both laughed together, like when Nagarajan missed a green traffic light by a whisker or when a buffalo-driven cart blocked their way for many precious seconds. On each such occasion, Nagarajan turned towards Siddharth and shrugged his shoulders with a smile. Then they both laughed. The whole journey was completed in a jovial manner and with some keen sporting spirit.

Nagarajan seemed to be trying hard. But no matter how hard he tried, Siddharth knew he was waging a losing battle. Siddharth made it a point to remind him of this fact on more than one occasion. And sure enough, when they reached Siddharth’s home it was five minutes more than an hour.

Siddharth had enjoyed the ride.

It took you one hour and an extra five minutes, said Siddharth.

I know sir. I lost. But no problem sir. I think traffic was a bit too much today for some reason.

No Nagarajan, it was the usual traffic. Though I must say you are a good driver. You did your best too, but I guess it was not good enough, said Siddharth with a smile.

"Never mind sir. Tomorrow I will pick you up at 8:45 am sharp. Also,