I’ve been having a lot of tennis related dreams off late. Watching the US Opens from India means having to wake up in the middle of the night and watching matches with eyes pumped with sleep. Sometimes I doze off. And then the tennis marred dreams would begin.

The last one was yesterday, while watching the Men’s Finals. I must have dozed off somewhere during the second set, once Rafa was a break up. In my dream I was on a tennis court–an indoor court, to be very specific. I was playing in a league. I.e. a team. As in real life, it was the first time I was holding a tennis racquet in years. And as too in reality, I still had the balance problem which renders me incapable of moving like a normal person (I shuffle). Some things never go away I suppose. But still, in my dream, I played. I lost most points. I lost the set 6-1. There was some pink colored synthetic string type of material tied to the racquet frame to indicate that I had played for my team. Like a consolation. I recall being frustrated because I couldn’t hit a ball. I was trying very hard but kept missing. I don’t remember anything else.

Dreams, like memories, comes in phases and it was only when I woke up that I realized that my opponent had been a male. I think quite a young, robust one (wholly unlike me). This, in my dream felt normal and would have too, in real life had I not been spending much of my time on social media scrolling through posts and tirades on gender battles and discriminations. The word equality gets thrown around like a used, tired ball.

I’m a woman but I’m not a feminist. And while I think I have reasonable amount of self worth, I don’t write posts campaigning for women’s rights. I grew up playing tennis with boys and was the only girl in their midst. When we were about 9 years old, and I wore my Monica Seles outfits, they’d laugh behind me as my little skirt flounced up in the air. “Look at her panties!” someone said.

I was embarrassed but not angry, nor belittled. It was normal. It’s what kids do. It never occurred to me then and nor does it occur to me now that their behavior should have been anything else. And it never deterred me from wearing my skimpy tennis skirts. Other than the fact that they didn’t have cool Monica Seles outfits, it also didn’t occur to me that they and I were different. It didn’t occur to me to label myself as non-binary or she/he.

It only struck me at times when our coach would assign a young boy to play me, and I’d watch him sulking his way to where I was. I did notice it then. I did feel different then. But it just made me want to want to improve even more. Equal footing. Not by demanding they treat me differently but by trying to play the way they did, trying to run the way they ran.

As an adult, I still, mostly, continued playing tennis with men (although some remain boys). In New York City, it was hard to find a female player my equal. A man is physically stronger, so his skill level needn’t be right on par with mine. I admit to feeling a certain amount of pride playing against men–keeping pace with their pace, sometimes outlasting them after two hours. We measure ourselves through our superiors. That’s just human nature–to want to be the best.

It never occurred to me, in my dream, that my opponent was a male because that is my normal. It also never occurred to me that I have a disability. And yet I think about it now and I write this. Because everything I read and hear around me forces me to consider this as not typical. That this is somehow about gender and equality and rights and advantages and self worth and misconceptions and preconceptions and dignity.

I’m not a feminist because intrinsically, I don’t consider myself any different than men. And therefore, in my dream too, everything plays out on equal grounds.

If my opponent beat me 6-1 in my dream, it was because he was better than me and I hadn’t picked up a racquet in years and was playing like an imbecile. Not because I was a woman and nor because I have physical issues.

In my dream, I am the same as anyone else. You may call me a dreamer. But, I’m not the only one.