Sunday Slipping....

Many people I know, like to treat their Sundays, with a certain ostensible laidbackness and detachment, savouring the day's inability to offer challenge and goals, basking in languid abandon of hectic or mundane pursuits. Not me.  I like to make the most of my Sunday. It's so precious for me that I invariably wake up at 5 on Sunday mornings, regardless of the cool respite (in summers) or the chilling breeze (in winters) that it brings along. This is the day when I consciously live minutely yet leisurely every moment that awaits me.

Let me confess that I'm paranoid about wasting a Sunday. I can't waste Sundays, I don't. So in furtherance of my ambition I start my the day very early. I saunter out of my house, wander in the garden as if I'm lost in wonderland. A bystander could easily mistake my cherished rapport with nature for some philosophical melodrama, perceiving me as a harebrained being who pretends interacting with the flora around him. I wish I could bare my heart and convey to him my heartfelt pleasure within nature's embrace. Something revives between me and the plants, grass, birds and even the air around me on a Sunday. I somehow stand stripped of that sensibility on other days. Perhaps nature has its own ego to handle. May be, like me it is equally capable of retorting with 'If I don't matter to you then you don't matter to me.' Perhaps that's the the reason why I'm never privy to the magnificence of nature's splendor on days when I'm busy giving my mind far greater priority than I give to my heart.

All of this equation goes for a toss on Sundays and old friends meet like lovers, unable to get enough of each other. Even butterflies hover around me and birds seem to fathom my language and leaves and petals feel the affection in my touch for sure. After I have somewhat quenched my week long thirst, I return for a detached and formal indulgence in commonplace activities only to be able to fully offer myself to my private pursuits. I don't even throw a glance at my engine powered vehicles. I either reconnect with my bicycle or even better, I walk. Hearing the zillion sounds that otherwise dodge my ears and seeing those countless tiny events that unfold regardless of being revered and marveled the way they ought to be, I admire this world and the omnipresent beauty that fills it.

I do not even watch Television as I consider it a criminal waste of a Sunday. Sunday is my rendezvous with everyone and everything that I desire and yet never attain despite being a free person. How therefore, can I ever let anything else, small or big, claim me.  Let me just say in one line what I wish to so urgently convey. While on other days I wish time flew, on a Sunday I wish it froze. 

Now, there is bad side to every good thing and the worst part of a Sunday is evening and the time thereafter where one miserly spends the remnants of his favourite day of the week, dreading over the inevitable prospect that in a matter of hours it would stand six days away.

Having confessed about my intimacy with Sunday let me tell you why I'm blogging about in the first place, except the obvious relevance of doing it on a Sunday. As I got up to a aggravating wrong call on my mobile phone at 3 AM today, I could not sleep for quite sometime dwelling on the fear that if I slept then, I might not be able to conform to my ritual of waking up early as I normally do. So I set the alarm to a 5 AM ring and reluctantly shut my eyes.

I woke up at about 11 A.M.

I didn't even know how to move when I saw the 'seconds' hand of my wall clock mockingly going about its job as the other two lay plastered over each other at about an inch away from the '12' sign. I found myself crushed between rage and exhaustion. I turned to my alarm clock for an investigation and was devastated to learn that its speakers had been inadvertently buried into the dense cushion which must have absorbed all its frantic cries obediently emitted by it on time. Swallowing my despair I politely asked my family the cause for not waking me up till so late in the day. I was told that they had to choose between letting me go about my Sunday routine or make an exception considering that I had returned late from my tour last night and after a fair deliberation they had resorted to the latter.


Can I now -  please - at the top of my voice - without holding back -     yell     -     " D A R N"    ?