The phone keeps on ringing non-stop.
“God people get a life!” I rant and shout out, “Dad please get the phone. My hands are deep in the dough.”
Generally, I am assumptively the perfect daughter, though the single one in the house, totally not pampered or I would like to think of myself, never ordering around, so my father who was reading a newspaper in the next room happily obliges to receive the call.
“Hello. No, this is her father here. Yes. Oh. Ok. Please hold on while I get her on the phone.” My father talks over the phone and calls out for me, “This is for you dear.” He carries the cordless around and holds it near my ears and says “It’s someone from the Mayor’s office.”
“Ughh!” my utter disappointment. “I am busy and the people around have ample time to give strangers call from strange offices!” I think. “Hello. Yes this is her. Oh! Ok. Thank you. Yes of course. Sure. Please send the invitations. Yes we will be there. Ok I will definitely be ready with the speech. Thank you. It was a pleasure.”
With all the ramblings with a few pauses, my father stands beside me and watches my face turn from regret to confusion to a smile to a blushed crimson and finally after the call ends, he enquires “So?”
“I am getting an award. Dad it’s my day. My THE DAY. I got it. I really did make it.” I happily reiteriate the entire conversation. I tell him it was a co-ordinator at the Mayor’s office and the award giving out ceremony is this Friday at the town District Library at five in the evening and that we will get an invitation card and that all our friends and family would get the invitation too.
“Oh my sweet little girl!” my father happily cries out. “Congratulations, you deserve it.”
My father rushes out of the room towards my mother in the garden to share the good news of their proud daughter. As for me, in my over bound happiness, start forming images of the day and playing my acceptance speech in my head. I picture myself wearing the bold mustard yellow Dhakai Jamdani sari, with the blue and green shankha patterns embroidered, which I pair up with my grandmother’s beautiful pearl neckpiece with the dangling charm resting over the green border of the sari. My name being called upon, I walk up to the stage to receive the award while my friends and family keep cheering my name aloud. I take the microphone in my hand with the smiling crowd below and start speaking. “Oh my glorious days finally! I am happy. I am glad. I am honoured. And I cry, not tears of sadness but of joy. A series of emotions overwhelm me and I make myself realise that it is finally happening to me. I thank Thy Lord for marking this destiny for me, my parents for being my constant support, my friends for encouraging me and most of all the society for…” where-in mid way through the speech I hear a shrill screech and the audience infront start to dissolve as solid colour in water and the vision seems to blur out and my mother’s voice starts becoming prominent in the backdrop of someone standing over.
“Wake up or you will be late for office,” I suddenly realise my mother shouting out at my comfortable closed eyed position as if I were lying down somewhere.
I open my overtly slept-in eyes and try figuring out reality. “I was dreaming. Again!” I think aloud. My mother pushes the window curtains aside and morning sun totally glazes at my face with a smirk, “Wake up late riser.” I take a look at the bedside clock and thump it to shut the alarm and shout out, “Oh my God! It’s past 9:30.”
“Now get of bed, lazy girl. Freshen up soon, am laying out the breakfast.” My mother smiles at my dreamy eyes and says, “My dear you dream a lot. Work as hard on them and success will definitely be yours.”
“Yes mom. I am up and awake. Will be at the table soon,” I manage and realise the dream really was a good one.
“Me and my drama obsessed life. Even dreams couldn’t be under rated here.” I think and smile.
The phone keeps on ringing non-stop.