Random Thoughts

Beneath Her Covers

Beneath her covers, Liza rolled over in her cozy bed, lips curled up in a crooked smile, a lovely smile of unadulterated contentment. She probably inhabited a fairy world .An exquisite panorama, where clouds wafted about in an all-encompassing azure sky. Mountains draped in silvery blankets , stood like reticent philosophers contemplating nature’s mystic methodology. Peeping from behind the mountains, the morning sun came into view. Dawn blossomed into light. Over the tree tops , the sky was streaked with crimson. It then became glorious with the radiance which shone through the fringes of the clouds. Breeze whistled, playing with her curls and the euphonious song birds serenaded Liza. The cascading river talked to her like an old friend, as it went rippling down the slope. This was Liza in her cosmos of peace and happiness, a land of ethereal perfection.

Her dream, like a loving mother, had embraced Liza and was making sure the darling had a peaceful sleep .It was amidst this perfection that the cruel alarm bell rang. Its shrill pitch distorted the waves of serenity that were ruling the atmosphere a short while ago. Still smiling, Liza rolled over to the edge of her bed, fumbled for the alarm clock, and with a thud, silenced it. Reluctantly she pulled herself out of her covers and managed to sit up. Eyes still closed, her slim, pink lips still parted in a smile, her hands lovingly caressed her hair. Clearly, the aura of the beautiful dream, still lingered on. This was the cutest picture of happiness. After all, real happiness is a state of joy which is independent of anybody or any achievement. True happiness comes as naturally as it has to Liza. Like merciful raindrops falling from Heaven to meet the parching lands. Alas! the devil alarm rung yet again, this time shriller. And now the element of Satan had the desired effect. Liza’s eyes opened with a jolt, the peace quick disappeared from her face, making way for horror as she stared at the clock. Gosh! It was 7:45, she was full fifteen minutes late. Dreading the consequences of such carelessness, Liza jumped out of bed and hurried to the washroom. Getting dressed in fifteen minutes, she yanked her bag out of the overcrowded cupboard and rushed down the stairs. So much misery wasn’t enough, the bolt from the blue awaited her. She reached the metro station only to find that she had missed the train.

Liza broke into an instant jog, was luckily missed by a speeding car and managed to hire a cab. She took out the mirror from her bag and took a look at her face for the first time in the day. God! she looked pale. Then came out her surviving amenities. Her makeup box made the effort to enliven her droopy face. She darkened her lipstick, paid special attention to her eye makeup, tried her best to groom her sagging cheeks and to coax a smile. But Liza knew that glow, that spark was indeed missing. Hoping this facade did the intended job, Liza said her prayers at a traffic crossing. A few minutes later she reached her office. Paying the bill she jumped out of the cab and hurried in. Flashing her i-card at the securities, she then did the cumbersome ritual of giving the machine a print of her left palm. The metallic door clicked open as the extremely sweet computerized voice spoke-“Welcome to work Miss Liza Bennet. You are 27 minutes 31 seconds late. Have a nice day.” Liza knew well how ‘nice’ her day would be after this ‘sweet’ information reached her superiors. As expected, her Liza was summoned and was thoroughly reprimanded.

Later in the day, when immersed in a file, Liza realized that the devil of the day was that beautiful dream. She cursed herself for dreaming. Oh! How she wished she had a machine which could block out dreams.

It happens with all of us. When we were happy in our nimbus, our work intruded on our personal space. But the question is, what makes us truly happy? Is it really appreciation at office or that coveted year end award? Or is it watching sunrise, or is it observing daffodils, or gazing at your sleeping infant; finding solace at the sight of his miniature pink fingers, clutching yours?


More by :  Bhawini Tripathi

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