Sunday afternoons

SOMETIMES, I want to forget all things and imagine that its a beautiful Sunday morning. It is springtime. I have woken up early.  Morning will bring the hot puris and potato fry that maa and papa cook together Sometimes, I would help. My siblings, my parents and me- we all would eat together amidst laughter, discussions, and teasing. We will do the dishes together. Either Mahabharat or Shaktiman would be going on the t.v.

As the sun warms up, my father will take the children to the river. Mom rarely used to accompany us there. The river meandered cutting the town in half. We would get down from my father's cycle and walk slowly and carefully downhill to the river. Brahmaputra has many small tributaries. Our river was one of them. We would practice swimming, almost on the sandy shore of the bank, too afraid to be drowned. From where we bathed, the other bank was the Hanuman temple. One of its blocks was titled, perhaps due to some seismic movement. 

Back home, lunch would be non-vegetarian- either fish, chicken or mutton. Hot rice & butter will be the beginning, followed by dal and veggies and main course. Sometimes papa made food very spicy. We would eat and gulp water. After lunch, it would be nap time. I rarely slept in the afternoons. But, when I was in my mother's warmth, I would sleep like a baby again. That comfort isn't anywhere.

Evening, we would go out to the market. Sundays were always a special affair. At night, we would sit down to study and pack things for the next morning. School began quite early at 7:15 a.m. Bus would come around 25-30 minutes early. 

Once Monday comes, everyone goes out. The nest would be emptied and locked. It was always a mixed feeling to open the locked door with my key on a sweating afternoon. Home used to wrapped up in a strange silence. The food needed to be warmed up, however, it never tasted like it did on Sundays. I would switch on the television. Watching cartoons and a variety of things we would wait for mom to return.

Evenings have always been my favourite part of the day. The silhouette of a lady with a purse at the far end of the lane would appear and we would leave our game and go running towards her. Wish I could hug her and tell her that she means the world to me. Sometimes, like assholes, we would take her shopping bags only to see what she had brought for us. 

As I grow older ( which has been my goal) I increasingly realise the fullness of my childhood and the void of coming times. I miss those evenings and Sundays. Some level of sadness and vagueness is acceptable. However, this is lunacy. Let my parents and siblings know that I love them from the bottom of my heart and thank them for all they did and continue to do. This post is only about them, all other relationships are an illusion. 

As Bukowski says and I quote, "We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that death will tremble to take us."

-Rashmirekha :)