6 45 pm: It is not yet Sunday, I know. I am thick deep in the middle of meeting a deadline for an editing assignment, with Mohin playing in the background, "Tomay Dilam".
2002-03, college-going Sundays. 5pm, Etv Bangla, a series named "Shudhu Tomar e Jonno". In it I had first heard of "Rhododendrons". They were so different, those Sundays. From the previous school-going ones. I used to hate them mornings of Rangoli and breakfast, followed by a rigorous bath, and then being part of some weirdass routine-series like Chandrakanta, as my mother supplied snacky post-breakfast goodies during breaks. I didn't like that actually. Her going into the kitchen during the break. And, Daanu and Ducktales. Or, later, Maths tutions. They were boring, the Sundays; I always heard they are fun with family. Mine just meant morning of Maths and TV, lunch, nap and getting back to trying-to-study, or, completing homework.
11 50 pm: I finished my work while at I's, and just back I thus continue with a light heart. I didn't like the Sundays post-school too, much. They never became what they were exhibited as. I felt they are an over-rated concept of holiday. They were ones in Calcutta, mostly spent with cousins, or my grandfather. With me in a morning college, it had to be wrapped up quick. And then while-at-University, Sundays had a completely different dimension altogether. Initially they meant relative-visiting, and later became grocery-marking. And a lot of Mohin-scotch-chorus building up to Monday-hangovers. That zone suddenly seems an age away :)
Sundays in Delhi, or the ones once in Calcutta, were a nonchalant day of sadness over an impending week, till the beginning of this year. When I was introduced by my raving love that Sundays are fun. It's all in the head. And yes, they did kind of become interesting, once I decided to live it that way. Even in the similarity of everyday of the week, in listening to Dharma/YRF movies on TV while correcting bad stories on the laptop, or, in thinking of a tiffin which would cater to SM's all veg-almost fruit diet-Monday, or, in hanging out with R,R, R & I in simple long drives of same songs and shared puffs, and dream vacations -- Sundays no longer seemed tedious.
Today, Sundays are precious. Today especially. When I had to work, it being a last-Saturday of the month. I had dinner at I's. With R & R. I look forward to tomorrow. It would be a productive, non-work day, in its sameness, away from you-cannot-do-this, or you-must-do-that and in living each moment of a day to my self and my loved ones. Six days of piled tiredness v/s one of many loving wants, that might end up not being fulfilled.
For yes love, you have taught me well. It is Sunday! (Complete with the exclamation.) It smells of your contagious positivity about the day. It smells of you, even without you. I miss you, especially on Sundays. That's exactly how special Sundays are.
When I do not wake up to the snoozing of an alarm and a mug of tea through deciding upon what to wear, but over a deliberate indulgence in the wishful moment of, "And here you come, with a cup of tea / Wreathed in steam." Sylvia Plath.
11 50 pm: I finished my work while at I's, and just back I thus continue with a light heart. I didn't like the Sundays post-school too, much. They never became what they were exhibited as. I felt they are an over-rated concept of holiday. They were ones in Calcutta, mostly spent with cousins, or my grandfather. With me in a morning college, it had to be wrapped up quick. And then while-at-University, Sundays had a completely different dimension altogether. Initially they meant relative-visiting, and later became grocery-marking. And a lot of Mohin-scotch-chorus building up to Monday-hangovers. That zone suddenly seems an age away :)
Sundays in Delhi, or the ones once in Calcutta, were a nonchalant day of sadness over an impending week, till the beginning of this year. When I was introduced by my raving love that Sundays are fun. It's all in the head. And yes, they did kind of become interesting, once I decided to live it that way. Even in the similarity of everyday of the week, in listening to Dharma/YRF movies on TV while correcting bad stories on the laptop, or, in thinking of a tiffin which would cater to SM's all veg-almost fruit diet-Monday, or, in hanging out with R,R, R & I in simple long drives of same songs and shared puffs, and dream vacations -- Sundays no longer seemed tedious.
Today, Sundays are precious. Today especially. When I had to work, it being a last-Saturday of the month. I had dinner at I's. With R & R. I look forward to tomorrow. It would be a productive, non-work day, in its sameness, away from you-cannot-do-this, or you-must-do-that and in living each moment of a day to my self and my loved ones. Six days of piled tiredness v/s one of many loving wants, that might end up not being fulfilled.
For yes love, you have taught me well. It is Sunday! (Complete with the exclamation.) It smells of your contagious positivity about the day. It smells of you, even without you. I miss you, especially on Sundays. That's exactly how special Sundays are.
When I do not wake up to the snoozing of an alarm and a mug of tea through deciding upon what to wear, but over a deliberate indulgence in the wishful moment of, "And here you come, with a cup of tea / Wreathed in steam." Sylvia Plath.
2 comments:
nice. very nice indeed.
Thank you, Sudipto. Means a lot.
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