Wake up! Wake up! Son’ as these words jingled and mingled in the ears of Sameer, his beautiful dream express came to an end, marking the beginning of one another day. Alarm clocks always failed to wake him up. Every day the same story – clock will burst out it’s not so melodious tone, Sameer would try to find it with eyes still dreaming, then a slap on the face of the clock, and here its goes, on the ground, silenced forever.  New day, new clock. Sleeping was something spiritual for him, like it gave him the greatest pleasures of all-time. His mother would always say that sleeping too much will make him lazy, make his brain less efficient but he would hush all such probabilities and would continue his daily-dreamy routine. He loved his dream world, we all do. He was his own master, the creator of his dreams. It was a possible escape door for him, to escape from the harsh realities of life. We all have our escape doors, which we try to find at times of distress, to run away. It does not end the problem, on the contrary it adds to it but this is how we live, or we are made to live.  These doors hide us for some time but the reality has to strike one day, it is destined to. He had his issues, some big issues; the type which cannot be discussed or told. He had to solve them on his own, alone.

‘What mom? Let me sleep.’ He said in his sleep-ish voice. ‘Ya! Ya! Please sleep darling but before that look at the time’ his mom said while sliding away the curtains of his room, letting the eccentric calm rays of sun enter his room. ‘It’s already 8.00, and your college bus will arrive in just 45 minutes. Now sleep soundly’ she added in a sarcastic way.

‘What?’  He exclaimed and sat in astonishment. ‘Its 8.00 already and I am still on bed. Mom you never woke me on time.’ He said and rushed towards the washroom.

‘Oh right! I never do that. I just keep shouting each day for more than two hours and then finally you wake to blame me of not waking you up. Great! Let’s see from tomorrow who wakes you up’ his mom said and moved out of the room.

‘Ok mom we’ll see. I bet I’ll make it tomorrow on my own’ he shouted.

‘Really? You have lost millions of such bets’ her mother shouted back.

This was the normal routine of Mr. Sameer Bakshi, student of IFT, institute of fashion technology, India. He always wanted to be a designer; he loved to play with colours, with shapes and fabric. He felt happy to create a design each day, to create something each moment. He never wanted to be on the conventional path of being an engineer or doctor or MBA like most Indians do. He wanted to try his hand out in something new, something of his own choice. He always thought that he would have literally died doing engineering, physics, chemistry, maths never proved to be his meal on the platter. Tall, fair and healthy (not hunky), he sometimes thought to be a fashion model, but soon realised that there are better ones out there. His mother, a homemaker, always supported him. His father, a banking official, wanted his son to be an engineer, maybe not for the sake of a good job or something, only because it would have been a privilege to brag about his engineer son around his folks.  But his dream grounded as Sameers’s decision sprouted. His mother was the key reason that his dad agreed, as he loved her truly and could not see her leave their house, those emotional tricks of Indian mom, you know. So finally he ended up in a fashion institute, with gorgeous girls and smart hunks, in the race of being a designer.

It was already 8:26 as he walked out of his room, all set in his black t-shirt and blue jeans and his favourite axe effect.

‘Morning dad’ he said as he made his way to the dining table, his dad peeping him from the corners of his daily. He sat in an adjacent chair of his dad, and waited for his meal.

‘Mom, again these paranthas (an Indian snack made of flour), you know I prefer something light in the morning. It’s all oily you know’

‘Shut up and look at you. You have lost so much weight; have some solid meal beta (son).’

He reluctantly grabbed one and began eating. He knew he can never win from his mom, he never wanted to.

The silence of the moment was broken by the honking bus. He was the first who the bus picked up. He stood quickly, got his bag, and rushed towards the main door. ‘Bye mom’ he said and closed the door behind him.

He said nothing to his dad; he knew it would not have an effect on him. From the very day he enrolled himself in this college, the ties between them loosened. They chatted seldom, that too on formal issues. He was his mom’s child, too deeply attached to her, open and frank.

He climbed the empty bus and took his lappy out, logged in twitter and tweeted, ‘another day, another way, and for all of you, a hey‼’