(pictures by Ankush Arora)

My dream reader is a reflection of my ego, and by extension a fulfillment of my narcissism. It’s a mirror to a self-seeking blogger whose success, according to him or her, is determined by the numbers of likes, page views and soaring comments.

My dream reader exists in my dream, where I am a vendor peddling my writing on platforms I am not supposed to, like “The Commons”. But when I go close to my prospective readers, I can’t touch them or speak to them. They can’t hear me or see me either.

I wake up groggy and disoriented. There’s no light in the room, save for the flickering screen of my laptop showing WordPress. I spend the day reading my own posts, admiring them, reading between the lines. I become my own dream reader.