For the past fortnight, I had been watching the hugely popular British Netflix series, Downton Abbey, set in the early 20th century, absolutely fascinated by the ambiance, the sights and smells of that aristocratic age of earls, lords, and ladies.
In fact, I had become so hooked on to their luxuriant lifestyle, the mouthwatering cuisine, the hunting, the liveried butlers that, to my utter chagrin, scenes from the series started figuring in my dreams too.
I would sleep late and try my best to avoid my morning walk. Sometimes, I would find myself as part of a hunting party, oft partaking of a spectacularly laid out dinner, and sometimes just trying to rein in the adventurous spirit of a self-willed and handsome horse galloping off at a canter.
Yesterday night, 2 am, to be precise, I had a nightmare. To my horror, I saw myself falling off a horse. Ah, what a fall it was! Every bone in my body pained.
Today morning, I suddenly got up, not feeling comfortable in the world I found myself in, and quickly closed my eyes again to return to my rosy world of lakes, mountains, green slopes, forts, and castles.
Ah, what a relief! Now I was walking in a verdant meadow, next to a lake, admiring the crystal blueness of the lake, wrapped in singular tranquility, interspersed only with the sights and sounds of boisterous birds, hopping hares, and feisty flowers dancing and prancing.
I walked on happily when I felt a sudden cascade of raindrops on my head. Before I could look up to see how grey the clouds were, a woman appeared behind me, holding a stylish parasol over my head. I reached home, enveloped by sweet tiredness, and slumped on my bed, I could feel someone tucking me in the bed, with great care.
I opened my eyes to find a woman, standing next to my bed, in a starched uniform, looking down at me, holding a salver in her hands. There was an envelope in the salver, addressed to some Lady. I knuckled away sleep kinks from my eyes, smiled at the woman, and opened the envelope.
“It is time for your walk, Lady,” the paper in the envelope said.
“Could you get my jogging shoes?” Before I could utter these words, the apparition disappeared, and so did the salver and the letter.
But the words remained. It is time for your walk.
Yes, it was indeed high time. Time to bid adieu to the fantasy world. Time to get a reality check – so I got real, and headed towards the corner where my jogging shoes stood, waiting to be claimed once again.
Leaving my dream behind, tucked warmly under that feather-soft blanket spread on the resplendent white frilly bed with a flowery canopy over it, I snuggled my feet into my battle-weary jogging shoes and wondered, ‘If I were at Downtown Abbey, would I have been able to write my morning meanderings of meeting labourers, milkmen and chaiwalas?’
Click here to read all episodes of Morning Meanderings Season 2
Superb!
Loved your piece on Downton Abbey. Loved the serial too. It’s the only one I watched an episode of almost daily. I was very impressed by the way the story was as much about the people who occupied the lower floors. Enjoy reading your weekly meanderings.
I love to read your weekly meanderings.The flight of your imagination is fantastic.
I found myself walking along with you! Such a lovely description!