Was it just a dream ?

“So long ago

Was it in a dream, was it just a dream?

I know, yes I know

Seemed so very real, it seemed so real to me
Took a walk down the street
Thru the heat whispered trees

I thought I could hear (hear, hear, hear)

Somebody call out my name as it started to rain”

- John Lennon (Dream)

Have you ever wondered about dreams? Those intricate stories our minds spin while we sleep, and the vivid visions of the future that keep us wide awake, hearts racing with adrenaline. Dreams are also the quiet hopes that sustain us when reality lets us down. To me, dreams are magnificent journeys—free to take, yet priceless in how they inspire us, fuel our growth, and push us to reach higher. In our dreams—especially the ones we see with open eyes—we are strong, powerful, beautiful, creative, and forever young. We become everything we long to be, sometimes down to the tiniest detail. Dreams can make us feel like superheroes, a captivating vamp, or a love-struck teenager with an impossible crush. But they can also leave us trembling like a frightened child, hollow like a ruin, or aching like the sick. It’s a pity that daydreaming is often dismissed or ridiculed—because to me, it is a vital, creative phase of any meaningful pursuit.To me it sounds like a very important and creative phase for any important achievement in life

I am an addicted, incorrigible dreamer. I dream with my eyes open—and, of course, closed. I dream of places, people, and moments so vividly and so often that sometimes I struggle to believe they aren’t real. The memories of these dreams are etched so clearly in my mind that I wonder if, in old age, I might begin to confuse them with reality.

I dream myself alive. I dream of breathtaking places and impossible experiences I know I’ll never have. Sometimes, I’m an eagle perched on a tree branch, surveying a vast valley. Other times, I’m plunging from mountaintops, savoring the thrill of the fall. And yes, I dream strangely too—of death and destruction, of being trapped in eerie, inescapable spaces. These moments feel so real that I imagine the actual experience couldn’t be much different. I once considered recording my dreams, but they always lost their magic when I tried to write them down. My words couldn’t capture their wild energy, their vividness.

Dreams fascinate me. I don’t always know what sparks them, but I have the ability to close my eyes and string together entire stories—so detailed I can almost feel, smell, and taste them. Sometimes, when one of these dreams materializes in real life, I’m left stunned, as though I had summoned it into being.

Surely, I’m not alone. There must always have been others like me—people who take dreaming seriously. There are mornings when I wake up laughing from some bizarre vision, and nights when I jolt awake, breathless, desperate to escape a nightmare. No wonder every ancient culture has its own lore about dreams. Some even had seers to interpret them. Certain dreams—like Queen Mahamaya’s vision before the birth of Siddhartha, or Abraham Lincoln’s premonition of his assassination—were believed to hold deep significance.

Poets, writers, mathematicians, and scientists have long claimed that dreams gifted them inspiration. I once read that Srinivasa Ramanujan saw mathematical formulas in his dreams, delivered by the goddess Namagiri, and verified them upon waking. Paul McCartney heard the melody of “Yesterday” in his sleep. Mary Shelley conceived Frankenstein in a dream. Throughout history, kings, statesmen, and artists have looked to their dreams for guidance—and I completely believe them. I’ve felt that kind of clarity myself. After all, many of our myths and legends begin with a dream. So do countless songs, books, and films.

It is generally believed that the mind, in its mysterious ways, plays with our dominant thoughts, fears, and desires—stitching them together into a tapestry of scenes, sounds, and emotions we call dreams. They are often seen as a psychological sorting process, a quiet theatre where the subconscious enacts the dramas of our waking concerns. But then, how do we explain those dreams that seem to emerge from nowhere? The ones that take us to places we’ve never seen, show us faces we’ve never met, or unfold in languages and landscapes we didn’t even know existed?

It’s in this space—between the known and the unexplainable—that dreams begin to feel like something more. Perhaps this very mystery is what gave rise to the idea that dreams are moments when the divine tries to whisper to us. That in the silence of sleep, angels—or call them messengers, guides, ancestors—attempt to converse with our deeper selves. In a way, dreaming feels like opening a secret doorway to a world that is both ours and beyond us. A place where the rational gives way to the symbolic, where meanings arrive not in words, but in sensations, visions, and inexplicable truths.

Perhaps the ancient sages were right when they said that both the waking world and the dream world are illusions—fleeting projections on the screen of consciousness. Just as a dream can feel completely real until the moment we wake, so too can life feel absolute until we pause and question its fabric. In both states, we experience joy, fear, love, and longing with equal intensity. The dream dissolves when we open our eyes. But what if waking is simply the next dream—just longer, louder, and bound by more rules?

In Advaita Vedanta, it is taught that the dreamer, the dream, and the act of dreaming are all expressions of the same Self—the undivided awareness behind all experience. And perhaps that is where the true magic of dreams lies. They remind us that we are more than our routines, roles, and rationalities. They allow us to touch the edges of mystery, to converse with parts of ourselves we never meet in daylight, and to remember that there’s more to existence than what meets the eye.

So, if you’re someone who dreams a little too much, don’t be in a hurry to dismiss it. Maybe your dreams are not distractions from reality, but gentle nudges toward a deeper truth. Maybe, just maybe, in dreaming, we come closest to remembering who we really are.

In the Land of Extremes

The very first day, my two companions declared that they see no beauty in the barren mud mountains. I told them to be patient. By the end of the seventh day , I had one definitive and one hesitant convert. Being there once, I know it takes time for our sensibilities to appreciate beauty in “nothing”. Yes, at that height- it is nothing that prevails. Miles after miles without any vegetation, bird or flower. The freezing streams too match the colour of mountains with mud in them. The glazing sun burning your skin hardly helps the matter. But with all this – Ladakh is beautiful. It is hauntingly bare and stunningly enthralling. It lures different people for different reasons. The peace seeking troubled souls for its Gompas and the adventure tourists for its imposing passes, geologists to study its ecosystem and the historian to get the pulse of its rich history.  The place has so many shades and colours that at times one fails to appreciate all of them at one go.

The land like its neighbouring Tibet is a land of dhamma. It is the land of Gompas and prayer wheels, prayer flags and Buddhist paintings – even on the high mountains these signs of Buddhism very defiantly declare the presence of this peace loving ideology. I always find it very intriguing, how this particular philosophy conquered some of the toughest terrains of the world and managed to rule the hearts of these people for centuries. Sometimes I feel that Buddhism in this region is very much like the Gompas which stand high above every habitation almost hanging from the peaks. These monasteries are fascinating.

 Some like Alchi and Lamayuru are definitely ancient places of worship. They bear such solemn and “knowing” look of their ancientness that even most unobservant visitor would note it  Others like Thiksey, Likir etc are very alive, very happy places to be. But the Monastery which stole my heart in first look was not one of these. Deep inside the Nubra Valley, while your eyes are still adjusting to the change of scenery from the snow peaked mountains to the white sand dunes, you find a huge Maitreya statue welcoming you to Diskit.  In Diskit, next to a huge waterfall stands the beautiful Diskit monastery- the oldest and the biggest in the entire valley.

The 32 metre tall Maitreya statue facing down the Shyok River towards Siachin is of course a recent addition to the place. The monastery however stands guard there from 14^th century onwards. The architecture is very interesting and reminds you more of a fortress than a Gompa.  Perhaps there was good reason for such a built. Being located on the Silk Route – this monastery has a series of attacks from robbers lured by its legendary wealth donated by the traders over the centuriesand also the reigning Kings of the Nubra Valley. Somehow, this colourful history makes the place much more fascinating in my eyes than the Alchi Monastery located amidst beautiful orchards of apricots and apples with the river Indus flowing below.....or even the Monastery at Lamayuru giving a fantastic view of the moonland.

 But Ladakh has much more to offer than these Gompas. As a trekker I fell in love with the idea of a cold desert while trekking in Spiti. The place is magical. It shows you the power and the serenity of nature in the same canvas. A fragile eco system- where winds can recite poems in your ears and can also change the look of the mountains. Where streams provide a much needed rest to the monotonous scenery and also play a role in flooding the habitations ...where mountains make you philosophical about life and also fill you with ambition to conquer them.

The place filled me up with so many contrasting emotions. While rafting in the river Indus ,I got a distinct sense of achievement , of riding the waves , of power of human race over the wild river . On another occasion, staring at the crystal clear blue water of Panong Lake , I could not help feeling spiritual  . What a beautiful reminder God left in the midst of high mountains of the sea which was there long time ago. A salty lake of 110 Km hidden from the eyes of civilisation ...where only the deserving can reach through a strenuous path . The place also made me realise the folly of human nature – who in the race of “owning “ this beauty end up ruining the peace of the region . Yes this is part of the troubled state of Jammu and Kashmir and China is just few miles away . The Kargil region and the Siachin is unfortunately remembered more for the fights than for the beauty. The place if full of memorial stones for army officers and common villagers who died in these fights  . What a sad fate for a region so enchanting ! That  in fact was one sentiment I carried with me throughout the trip.

But I would be blind if I fail to see the bravery of the people here. Despite harsh weather and fragile topography , I do not remember one impolite or dishonest person. People were friendly , smiling and looked happy. Even while mentioning the cloud burst of last year which swept away hundreds of people, my car driver Dorjee smiled and added that “ We have re-built it now .It is over .” I am sure it is this never-say-die spirit that kept this place alive for centuries.   

I came back from Ladakh promising myself that I will go back there. Alone. For a travel with myself – sans all baggage , all programs, all maps  and all thoughts of daily life .