The Sleepy Sweet Shop

March 13, 2025

Last night I had a dream which probably describes an inner conflict I didn’t realize I was grappling with. 

I was in a sleepy little store on a planet in the far corner of the universe, carrying a woven basket to the checkout counter. The shelves in the store were wooden and filled with few choices but still had everything I needed. A muscly grey haired man was following me around urging me to reconsider my decision. He was dressed in a tightly fitted outfit (read like superman or batman or ironman) with some military insignia. We were both trained warriors and my decision in response to a crisis where some rich and powerful megalomaniac was planning a takeover of the world, was to stay on my sleepy in little planet, in my sleepy little town, with its sleepy stores and let the Universe go on. The muscly man was going to board a spaceship to take him to the heart of the war.

The sleepy store reminded me of a store in the city of Poona which was a town compared to bustling Bombay when I was growing up. We had a family home there and my cousins and I spent many weeks of the summer there, chaperoned by an elderly aunt or uncle while our parents visited occasionally. Once a week we were driven to Dorabji’s in what was called the ‘camp’ area and were allowed to buy a bag of sweets. We chose from jars on shelves behind a counter filled with store made hard-boiled sweets without wrappers, or factory made ones with wrappers, toffees, and little bars of chocolate. I looked long and hard at the jars but always picked out lemon drops and bullseyes though the man behind the counter would add a few cherry sours into my bag. I don’t know why we were never taken to such a shop in Bombay then? That memory put a smile on my face and I had to write it here though it doesn’t have anything to do with the topic of this post. Except sweet memories do help compensate for the difficult times some of us are going through. 

Actually of course all the world is going through the changing and uncertain times, some of us like the woman in the sleepy store have found ways to continue our lives and let the drama play out. I can imagine her saying, anyway what can I do about it. It depresses me and I don’t want to feel so helpless, it’s nicer just living out my cozy small life and not thinking about the bigger things I cannot possibly influence.

I have been feeling that helplessness though my spirit has been more akin to that of the man ready to do battle and fight for the Universe he wants to live in and leave behind for his grandchildren. He too knows not much of what he does will make a difference but then he remembers all the films he grew up with, and all the stories his grandparents told him about the times when a seemingly insignificant bunch of rebels challenged the imperial forces. (Ya, I’ve read and watched too many such stories )

But, last night’s dream had that quality and so does the world at times. Can’t you see Darth Vader walking to greet the Emperor, hear the music, feel the sentiment?

Recently I was called an armchair warrior by a rightwing fanatic, one of those convinced that all India needs to do to solve its problems is dominate the Muslims, make their lives unlivable because Mughal emperor Aurangzeb made the lives of his ancestors miserable. I say ‘his’ because many of these creepy troller-types have a male profile. Often with names like Shiva, or Krishna, but also Jiten and Vineet’s exist in that spectrum. The term was meant to hurt me, but I don’t mind being called an armchair warrior. What are they too anyway? Lately though my secret life of being an armchair warrior has taken over more sane aspects of me and that is concerning. Yet in some tiny way it helps me feel less helpless so it is a release.

Yet truly I don’t know how to respond to, how to stem the feelings of helplessness as India rolls over backwards and hands itself over to forces like Trusk. Other countries are resisting, are making changes to make themselves independent as quickly as they can even as they to feel it a gigantic and sometimes impossible task. But India is rolling over and handing over the country to not only its own rich and powerful but also the rich and powerful Trusk, while reshaping the narrative people get to hear through controlled mainstream media or simply diverting it so that all their hordes talk about is Muslims and the ghosts of Aurangzeb and Nehru. I wonder what factors keep our iron-man Modi from even making one little squeak when Trump has insulted India over and over.

Ya, I seem to be in a loop repeating the same things I felt last week and the week before and before that. Yesterday though when I heard that Musk’s Starlink was coming to India I felt a different level of low. Today is a new day though and like the man in my dream I will keep resisting, though I suppose I need a day off, or an hour off, to visit the sleepy sweet shop occasionally. I do still want to soothe my low with a sweet treat or a stub nibbed pen, but I have better control over this urge now and instead watch cooking competitions. And the book I had begun reading a few weeks ago, Light in the Darkness, is helpful in finding equanimity in these times. But it is extremely satisfying to shut one right-winger up, to take apart his logic and render him unable to respond except by calling me names. 

And lately when they can’t stop us by calling us anti-Hindu, anti-India, sickular, liberandu, they move on to abusing our daughters and wives and even mothers. A different anger arises when women and their honour is brought into the equation. One that is unstoppable.