Monday, 1 July 2013

SUNDAY.

If the genie were to make its appearance , after rubbing the magic lamp, I  would ask him to stretch Sunday to 48 hours.Hello folks! are you all surprised or think that I am a bit senile? Or am asking genie for a trivial wish? No. I am asking him for the impossible.Let me whisper the the humble purpose behind my odd wish.

                                                             


We wake up on Sunday when the sun is already up and frowning upon the window. I  can feel his negative emotion , as our bedroom is on a preheating mode of the oven. The sun's powerful tentacles i.e. rays are trying to outdo each other to peep and later pierce the thick wall of cotton curtain that has succeeded in keeping the unwanted intruders at bay.

                                                              



Finally when the beauty of sleep has its share of fill, we yawn and try to drag ourselves out of the bed  as we can hear the rumblings of our  tummy, the contents being empty and the hydrochloric  acid  beginning to take the form of lava.

The milk packets and the freshly printed newspapers are at the door-step, begging us to let them in.

A slow sumptuous breakfast or brunch should be more appropriate, is wolfed down and the shinning plates which we have polished off , are dumped into the sink.The plates require very less manual scrubbing as 'Mata Annapoorna' (Goddess of Food) is revered and no morsel is wasted.

We then sift the newspapers as each member of my family is biased towards a particular newspaper. We read our newspapers as a devotee could read the holy scriptures. Sunday newspapers have interesting
spread of menu in the form of articles, travelogues,editorials, cryptic crosswords and cartoon strips. The everyday news of murders, tortures,kidnaps, accidents and thefts pale and are relegated to 'other news' column. We often exchange notes and jokes and the ice is broken as our heads were buried into the pages of print.

The rains are here and Mumbai is witness to the abundance of the Rain God's blessings. Hot cups of tea, spiced with lemon-grass( a  herb) to insulate our body from cough and colds are enjoyed against the backdrop of the lush green hills ,  that can be viewed generously from the huge windows , as now , the curtains are pushed aside to make way for Mother Nature to enter. 

                                                    



The Sunday newspapers give way to books or novels are we read with frenzy. I am at present reading 'Robinson Crusoe ' and  'Snow' simultaneously. Daniel Defoe 's writing seems to attract more attention than Orhan Pamuk.

Again the insides of the tummy start grinding and herald the onset of dinner time.

We retire to our bedroom to collapse on our beds and sleep takes over.

The slow Sunday is reserved for family time, a time of togetherness ,  a day when we do not look at the face of the clock. This day, as many , may  feel is wasted without any productive work done . But I am sure my son would love to tell his kid/s about our idyllic time of togetherness. A sense of bonding that he will inherit and the rich legacy that me and my hubby would leave for him.

How do you spend your Sundays? Do you wish for a 48 hour Sunday?



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