We were small when we began sleeping on pillows made from mustard seeds stuffed in a cover and sewed by our granny.
One day I was nagging Zongpa to tell me a story to why, we got painful bumps on our asses if we sat upon pillows.
“Go and apologise, they curse you as you sit on them.”I had not known then that you could communicate with an object made of “once alive” materials.
So, began the bond of a girl and her pillow.
I sketched a pair of lips on its cover and when asking it’s sex, it said,
“You are nothing, nor am I. It is what you think you are based on certain morphological disorders bestowed by gravity on you.”
The next day, I left only to return to it as an adult after 10 years.
I went to my old pillow, hugging it, I asked,
“Tell me what you have seen?”
“I have not seen but learnt human bodies entwine aimlessly, pressing me hard and low, asphyxiating me almost. A cat comes sometimes and sleeps lightly upon me, most well behaved of all, I saw your cousins sin, I was comforting your aunt when her husband died. I learnt disdain, pity, hatred, lust.
But I missed you all this while, they used me again and again unapologetically.. Your elders and children have not learnt this art, except you.”
I brought it with me, keep it clean and happy. It doesn’t precisely like sweats smelling like rotten eggs stuck on it, neither likes dirty 🦶 feet stamping it. It likes to be peaceful and 🧼 clean and fresh always.