an Ideal Sunday
Woke up to a misty morning. Got lovely dovey with ma. Went for a dip. Swam for over an hour.
Came back. For the tenth day in a row, gyrated the hoola hoop in the hope to master it someday. Could manage only 7 hoops at max. The same as yesterday. But I remain stubborn.
As if trying to make my Sunday, the weather gods decided to rain! Aah...rain for me...like dope for an addict. Inevitably, got drenched again :)
After the rain, went for a pleasure stroll with ma. Hand in hand on the wet roads of Dwarka. Ended up buying veggies and milk...anything for that walk with ma.
Took out my cycle for repair. Gladly parted with Rs 20, the cost of fixing tyre puncture. Tried to remember which part of my car costs as less as that? Couldn’t recall any.
Went for a leisurely cycle ride. Something was wrong with Delhi weather on this Sunday. It was unimaginably good. Kept reminding me of Bokaro.
Came back home, and put the CD player on full volume like a brat! From kailash kher’s soul stirring songs to rehman’s classics to downright dirty bollywood numbers...danced on all till I nearly dropped. Was dancing even while bathing.
Had fresh fruits for breakfast. Got lovely dovey with ma. And slept like a log after that! A Sunday without morning sleep is incomplete.
Raajma-bhaat for lunch. Seems that I look emaciated to my mother (there is movie like this...where the boyfriend of an elephantine girl actually sees her as slim...cant point the movie’s name...but I think my mother has a similar syndrome). Ma added a pinch of salt and dollops of ghee to the bhaat. In front of my eyes! I swear I (feebly) tried resisting. Ate with my eyes closed. Making orgasmic sounds.
Picked up the book I’m reading these days. Bhagat Singh’s writings. Got drunk on a few lines. Ruminated on them. Talked to myself. Talked to Bhagat Singh.
Had a cousin uncle coming as Sunday guest. Dad suggested I should wear pyjamas instead of my usual shorts. I pretended not to listen. Sunday without parents’ barbs too is incomplete! I might also start enjoying it soon.
Come evening. Comes the lovely lovely rain. Comes the wind laden with the mind-blowing smell of wet earth. Comes back my desire to play with water.
Decide to go swimming again. This time with my brother. In a different pool (my pool guys already think I’m some sort of a jerk. The pool manager asked me once...after I did 100 odd laps, “maidam, aap kya khaate ho?”).
We went on his bike. From Dwarka to RK Puram. Needles of rain drops pierced my face, neck, arms and legs. A few kilometres down the road, and I was dripping! Gusts of chilly wind made my shirt billow on the bike. I let my hair loose, stretched out my arms, faced the lightening thundering clouds, drank in the raindrops...pure ecstasy.
A dip in the pool now felt warm. With my brother around, doing anything serious is impossible. Except fun. So we had serious fun. With diving. Diving is his area. His expertise. He can dive in at least 20 different ways. None of which are proper or prescribed. Think of proficiency, he has named them all! In some, you dive like someone has planted a huge kick on your ass. Or your gut. In a few others, you dive like a curled up worm. Or a curled out worm. Or dive with your body rotating side-wise...which according to him is the way bollywood villains fall when heroes drub them. Innovative, I have to admit. In a long time, I had not done such spectacular fooling around. It felt GREAT.
Came back on the bike. Brother substituted for the car stereo by singing aloud. Despite that (or maybe because of it) the journey was fun. Rain got louder and better. Got home, got dry, got lovely dovey with ma....and drank Tang! I could almost hear by body shout for salts by then.
Helped ma in the kitchen. Can’t see her working alone. At all.
Had sattoo parathas for dinner.
Scalded my tongue on steaming hot coffee (strong and sweet – my way) after dinner.
Read Bhagat Singh again. Got lovely dovey with ma. Kissed her good night.
Went to the terrace to a dreamy night. Cool winds, the fragrance of rain, the gleam of near full moon. Sang a few moon songs…remembered the moon of my life…talked to some sweethearts…and slept like a baby after that.
Ain’t it an ideal Sunday?
PS- come to think of it, an ideal week too. Monday working, Tuesday off. Wed working, Thu off. Fri working, Sat Sun off. Why can't every week be as good as this?!
Came back. For the tenth day in a row, gyrated the hoola hoop in the hope to master it someday. Could manage only 7 hoops at max. The same as yesterday. But I remain stubborn.
As if trying to make my Sunday, the weather gods decided to rain! Aah...rain for me...like dope for an addict. Inevitably, got drenched again :)
After the rain, went for a pleasure stroll with ma. Hand in hand on the wet roads of Dwarka. Ended up buying veggies and milk...anything for that walk with ma.
Took out my cycle for repair. Gladly parted with Rs 20, the cost of fixing tyre puncture. Tried to remember which part of my car costs as less as that? Couldn’t recall any.
Went for a leisurely cycle ride. Something was wrong with Delhi weather on this Sunday. It was unimaginably good. Kept reminding me of Bokaro.
Came back home, and put the CD player on full volume like a brat! From kailash kher’s soul stirring songs to rehman’s classics to downright dirty bollywood numbers...danced on all till I nearly dropped. Was dancing even while bathing.
Had fresh fruits for breakfast. Got lovely dovey with ma. And slept like a log after that! A Sunday without morning sleep is incomplete.
Raajma-bhaat for lunch. Seems that I look emaciated to my mother (there is movie like this...where the boyfriend of an elephantine girl actually sees her as slim...cant point the movie’s name...but I think my mother has a similar syndrome). Ma added a pinch of salt and dollops of ghee to the bhaat. In front of my eyes! I swear I (feebly) tried resisting. Ate with my eyes closed. Making orgasmic sounds.
Picked up the book I’m reading these days. Bhagat Singh’s writings. Got drunk on a few lines. Ruminated on them. Talked to myself. Talked to Bhagat Singh.
Had a cousin uncle coming as Sunday guest. Dad suggested I should wear pyjamas instead of my usual shorts. I pretended not to listen. Sunday without parents’ barbs too is incomplete! I might also start enjoying it soon.
Come evening. Comes the lovely lovely rain. Comes the wind laden with the mind-blowing smell of wet earth. Comes back my desire to play with water.
Decide to go swimming again. This time with my brother. In a different pool (my pool guys already think I’m some sort of a jerk. The pool manager asked me once...after I did 100 odd laps, “maidam, aap kya khaate ho?”).
We went on his bike. From Dwarka to RK Puram. Needles of rain drops pierced my face, neck, arms and legs. A few kilometres down the road, and I was dripping! Gusts of chilly wind made my shirt billow on the bike. I let my hair loose, stretched out my arms, faced the lightening thundering clouds, drank in the raindrops...pure ecstasy.
A dip in the pool now felt warm. With my brother around, doing anything serious is impossible. Except fun. So we had serious fun. With diving. Diving is his area. His expertise. He can dive in at least 20 different ways. None of which are proper or prescribed. Think of proficiency, he has named them all! In some, you dive like someone has planted a huge kick on your ass. Or your gut. In a few others, you dive like a curled up worm. Or a curled out worm. Or dive with your body rotating side-wise...which according to him is the way bollywood villains fall when heroes drub them. Innovative, I have to admit. In a long time, I had not done such spectacular fooling around. It felt GREAT.
Came back on the bike. Brother substituted for the car stereo by singing aloud. Despite that (or maybe because of it) the journey was fun. Rain got louder and better. Got home, got dry, got lovely dovey with ma....and drank Tang! I could almost hear by body shout for salts by then.
Helped ma in the kitchen. Can’t see her working alone. At all.
Had sattoo parathas for dinner.
Scalded my tongue on steaming hot coffee (strong and sweet – my way) after dinner.
Read Bhagat Singh again. Got lovely dovey with ma. Kissed her good night.
Went to the terrace to a dreamy night. Cool winds, the fragrance of rain, the gleam of near full moon. Sang a few moon songs…remembered the moon of my life…talked to some sweethearts…and slept like a baby after that.
Ain’t it an ideal Sunday?
PS- come to think of it, an ideal week too. Monday working, Tuesday off. Wed working, Thu off. Fri working, Sat Sun off. Why can't every week be as good as this?!
एक बार फिर से आपको ही पढ़ा:
ReplyDeleteये करारे दिन ज़िंदगी के हैं
इससे पहले की सीलें
रख दिल पर हाथ, उड़ान भर
लम्हों में सदियाँ जी ले
आपके दिन कभी न सीलें – इस कामना को अभिव्यक्ति की आवश्यकता नहीं।
बल्कि आपको किसी की इस कामना की भी आवश्यकता नहीं।
जीती रहिए जीवन को भरपूर।
:) your compliments touch me so...it all comes out in a heart-warming smile :)
ReplyDeleteI read it a li'l late, but couldn't stop myself from writing something here....just loved your ideal sunday and the way you have described it..from rain drops to your dance ...all became so alive !!!! love your energy and your writing baby !!
ReplyDeleteoh rupam :) touched again. i derive such strength from you Rupam, you can't imagine!
ReplyDelete