<p>I snuggle under the quilts and manoeuvre my head on the soft cover of my pillow to find the right patch where I would place my head for the night's sleep. I am so happy that I am comfortable. <br /><br /></p>.<p>My body curls itself into a position in which I feel secure for the night. I stuff the top end of the quilt under my chin and tuck the rest around my head. It is a cold night and I need a good sleep, perhaps with a good dream to go with it. <br /><br />I am glad I could get to my bed to find some sleep. But then suddenly I realise that my sleep is not just about me wanting a good night's sleep but so many things that were ensuring it for me - my pillow, my quilts, my mattress, the sheet that covers it and of course the temperature in the room and the quiet of the neighbourhood. <br /><br />I am indeed lucky I think but I feel like saying a thank you to the pillow, especially because it puts me to sleep the moment I find that patch of magic. I forget my work, my worries, my world, and I sleep. And every time I wake up in the night I need to just find that patch again and wait for the magic to work. <br /><br />It is just that worn out old pillow with new covers every few months. The pillow that has got dirty beyond tolerance after I have abused its endurance by sleeping with everything in my hair - from oil to colour to medicinal creams. <br /><br />The magic perhaps is the smell of my sweat and the familiar scent of my head that makes me feel secure. The comfort of the intimacy of one's own imperfections and smallness. The same pillow, the same nodules of foam and the same old skin that holds the innards. But the new covers are just a facade to cover the genuine character of the padding. <br /><br />I know and remember the times I have placed my head on pillows that are feathery soft and fresh in luxury hotels; some of which even offer a pillow choice that you make according to your vanity. I cannot carry my pillow everywhere like I do carry my feelings, fears and worries. I come home for comfort and to sleep in security and my pillow ensures I get all of it though sans all the ‘class’ that could come with the aloofness of an unknown pillow.</p>
<p>I snuggle under the quilts and manoeuvre my head on the soft cover of my pillow to find the right patch where I would place my head for the night's sleep. I am so happy that I am comfortable. <br /><br /></p>.<p>My body curls itself into a position in which I feel secure for the night. I stuff the top end of the quilt under my chin and tuck the rest around my head. It is a cold night and I need a good sleep, perhaps with a good dream to go with it. <br /><br />I am glad I could get to my bed to find some sleep. But then suddenly I realise that my sleep is not just about me wanting a good night's sleep but so many things that were ensuring it for me - my pillow, my quilts, my mattress, the sheet that covers it and of course the temperature in the room and the quiet of the neighbourhood. <br /><br />I am indeed lucky I think but I feel like saying a thank you to the pillow, especially because it puts me to sleep the moment I find that patch of magic. I forget my work, my worries, my world, and I sleep. And every time I wake up in the night I need to just find that patch again and wait for the magic to work. <br /><br />It is just that worn out old pillow with new covers every few months. The pillow that has got dirty beyond tolerance after I have abused its endurance by sleeping with everything in my hair - from oil to colour to medicinal creams. <br /><br />The magic perhaps is the smell of my sweat and the familiar scent of my head that makes me feel secure. The comfort of the intimacy of one's own imperfections and smallness. The same pillow, the same nodules of foam and the same old skin that holds the innards. But the new covers are just a facade to cover the genuine character of the padding. <br /><br />I know and remember the times I have placed my head on pillows that are feathery soft and fresh in luxury hotels; some of which even offer a pillow choice that you make according to your vanity. I cannot carry my pillow everywhere like I do carry my feelings, fears and worries. I come home for comfort and to sleep in security and my pillow ensures I get all of it though sans all the ‘class’ that could come with the aloofness of an unknown pillow.</p>
