So I was cleaning my bookshelf, categorizing it, and wiping the covers clean.
Books were all around me. I loved that feeling. I made myself a papier Palace, I flipped through pages and smelt the vanilla fragrance from the pulp. Many books were virgin, many more were touched by me and others.
After almost two hours, I grew tired. I slept the way I was. In my drowsiness, I pulled a hapless book out of the pile and made a pillow out of it. I brought a book or two close to myself and slept off.
Mom wondered what took me so long. She peeped through the key hole and saw no one standing in the room. She opened the door a bit and noticed a silhouette sleeping. She carefully ushered herself in, careful not to step on any book. Each book is Saraswati, personified.
To think of it, I’d have indulged Saraswati many more times when I threw out more than 2 dozen books into the empty plot adjacent to our flat. But that’s another story for another day. I’m sorry didi.
She felt that I was cold. She covered me with a blanket. Like an infant who latches on to a nipple, I grabbed the blanket and pulled it closer – all in my sleep.
She took my phone, unlocked it – yes she knows the password to my phone, I taught it to her because I am an open book – and opened the Camera. With the rudimentary photography skills she possessed, she clicked this one photograph of me sleeping.
She quietly left the room like nothing happened. I woke up couple of hours later, and checked my phone for notifications. I rearranged my shelf, ate dinner and went to sleep.
Next day, I was cleaning my phone when I saw this picture. I went to mom and showed it to her, she smiled. I was in glee.
Refuge 