Left Right Left

Some people hear voices in their head. I hear an entire army. Their footsteps give my dreams a rhythm and then fade out into a background score till the drama of my reverie reaches a crescendo.

Every night for as long as I can remember, I’ve heard the brisk thrust of a hundred feet on a crisp morning ground.

At first, it would make me rush to the window and stare down the street to see the uniformed men in action. It never occurred to me that the prospect of a live regiment walking through the by-lanes of Bombay was a farfetched one. If people can see UFOs, real men in a march past seemed perfectly plausible.
But when not a single foot stomped past my sleepy eyes, I realized that the street they were on was paved only in my imagination.

I’ve never seen their faces. Or know their names. To me they’re a sound or at best a vision of ironed trouser legs over brightly polished boots.

Is it an anomalous result of being born on the eve of my country’s independence day? Are they an army of ‘knights in shining armor’ vying for my approval? Is it the bad karma of all those avoided sports days in school?
I’ve long since stopped debating the reasons. And prefer to live with my demons, or in this case; my soldiers. There aren’t too many people I know who can lead an army. In their sleep.