‘Dreaming of Retired Goldfish’
By Dhanen Mahes

I have it on good authority that goldfish, if not fed, die.
I don’t feed my goldfish. I write about feeding my goldfish, and they live happily and healthily in my imagination, but the bowl on my desk has turned brown and there haven’t been any fish in it for ages. No wait, there haven’t been any live fish in it for ages. Tim and Tom are still in there somewhere though, coalescing with the matter that fills their little goldfish universe.
What does feeding goldfish have to do with anything? Nothing. And everything. It’s one of those mechanical, mundane things we do everyday. Things that we have to do, to put food on the table, to pay our bills, to keep ourselves occupied and distracted from the worries of putting food on the table and paying our bills. Feeding goldfish is one of those things we never thought about when we daydreamed as children, but end up doing day in and day out as adults. Whatever happened to those dreams of adventure? Where are the heroes and explorers? The dreamers and the magicians and the space-pirates? What are they all doing ?
Feeding their goldfish, that’s what. Doing the mundane things we have to do everyday to keep the files from piling up, the traffic flowing smoothly and the house from falling down. Somewhere along the way, we put aside our dreams and assume the roles society has prepared for us. After all, we need people to do the filing, and to stamp those papers, and make those business calls. Dreams don’t put food on the table, do they? Nor do they pay the bills.

It is impossible to quest for the Holy Grail, when you are bogged down by mundane, but important, matters. Like goldfish. And mortgage. That’s why writers and directors, actors and singers find it for you, and hand it to you in a nice wrapping, so that you can open it, peruse it and throw it away when you don’t feel like playing with it anymore, and want to buy a new great adventure. Those movies that you watch, the songs that you listen to a hundred times a day, those are your dreams given life. It may be different dreams for different people, and a song that you love may be hated by your best friend, but everyone has songs or movies or plays that they love, because it reminds them of those unfulfilled dreams, those things they have to leave behind for so many reasons.
In the course of growing up, there are so many dreams that we have to forget or leave behind because they don’t have a place in reality, or because we aren’t in the position to make them come true. I had friends in school who dreamt of being doctors, but couldn’t afford private medical school when they weren’t offered places in the medical course at local public universities. Is it any surprise that those friends of mine are hooked on Grey’s Anatomy and House and other medical shows? These shows, these art forms allows them for one hour each week to live their dreams of being doctors, something that now will never become a reality.

This is a good time to ask what is art exactly? Is a painting in an art gallery art? Is a story told by your 5 year old art? You may think the answer seems obvious.
“Well, the painting is art because it’s in the museum. The story my five year old told about magic munchkins is just overactive imagination.”
But hang on, why is that painting art? Because the artist has a French name? Because nobody understands it? Because it’s hanging on the art gallery wall? And why isn’t that story told by your five year old art ?
Art is an expression of a person’s thoughts and feelings. It is a way of making sense of the world, and telling other people what you think of reality. It is a way of letting someone else into your head, communicating with another person and telling them something. That is why art is such an effective vehicle for voicing our frustrations with reality, and our shortcomings and our dreams. In many respects, I believe that your daughter’s story about magic munchkins is a purer, more exciting form of art. It’s not bogged down by commercial issues, your daughter isn’t worried if they’re going to broadcast her story, if anybody is going to buy the rights to produce it, if she’s going to make any money from it. She isn’t worried that society isn’t ready for it, or has moved away from it. She is simply expressing herself and her thoughts in a squeaky voice while dancing around the house in her favourite pink sweater, telling you stories about her magic munchkin friends. And she is a much more honest artist than a man with a fake French name, drawing something according to all the rules so that it will be accepted in an art gallery, and he’ll be on TV. That doesn’t mean the painting isn’t art. I’m just saying don’t take those stories and drawings and songs as junk just because they don’t fit the bill of how some people define art. Your friend Rachel who can make a trip to the grocery store sound like a grand adventure is an artist. You aunty who can make her son sound so much better than you, and drives your mom crazy, is an artist. When you lie to your boss about why you can’t come in early tomorrow, you’re telling a story, from your imagination. And that makes you an artist. Sounds like glorifying lying, but then again, any good story is just a convincing lie or half-truth. Try not to do it too often though.

Art was born because we dream. And art lives because not all our dreams come true. The cavemen started telling stories. Some told stories by painting fantastic hunts and festivals on cave walls. Some told stories through oral presentation, regaling the others on how they had hunted a herd of animals, peppering the story with little white lies to make it more interesting, to make themselves look stronger, braver, smarter, to impress the girls and the boys, to make up for their own perceived shortcomings. Others told stories of bountiful food during times of drought, or places far beyond where they were, that were full of food and pleasures, to give the others hope. The story inspired those who heard it. Nothing could stop imagination, the stories got better, the paintings became more vibrant. And thousands of years later, we’re still at it.

Hollywood, Bollywood, bestsellers, chart-toppers and porn stars. Our unfulfilled dreams brought to life. The unrepentant, unconquerable dreamer within us acting out against reality.
Life isn’t what we want it to be. And our imagination, our dreams are a way of acting out against that fact. Art gives our conscious and subconscious dreams and desires a presence in reality, and that is why we cannot survive without art. Imagine yourself in a world without beauty, without stories, without music. How long could you survive there without going mad?

So the next time your child tells you a story, listen. And tell him a nice story too. In fact, don’t be afraid to lose yourself in your dreams and your art every now and then. Write, draw, sing, dance. Don’t worry if you think you aren’t very good. Don’t worry about if anyone will like it or what they will think. Allow yourself some time to grieve for those things that will never come true. Enjoy your dreams, and the art that it inspires. Enjoy other people’s dreams, and the art that they inspire.

Just don’t forget to feed your goldfish.