Sundays

Over the years Sundays have always been very different. There is an entire album memories attached to Sundays. From “jungle jungle phul khila hai” to sleeping till 1 pm and getting up only because the previous week’s clothes were screaming for a wash. From waiting the entire week for the special Sunday lunch to having wada pao (no one served lunch by the time we walked out of home)…

From sitting till late night to finish homework to watching late night movies and then catching the first train for lonavala to have tea,,,

They have all been very different yet very similar… “same difference” as one of my friend would put it..

Today is another Sunday, but there is something different about this one.. something is urging me to flip through the dust laden yet fresh memories of my childhood..

Those Sundays were different, they were special and precious.. and I always thought it was because they were so “eventful”..

Mornings usually meant going to get breakfast with dad,  kachori, aloo ki sabzi with jalibi ; so sweet that I can still taste them and the colour seemed like someone had spilled water on a water paint of a sunset..

After breakfast a “grueling” Sunday awaited me.. it would generally consist of a thorough cleaning of the inverter batteries.. The simple task of cleaning them made me so “responsible” and left me feeling good if at the end of it dad acknowledged it is as a good job..

This would generally lead to dad and me spending good amount of time tending to the gardens (flower in the front and vegetables at the back)..

I have never found that kind of pleasure in working and working hard… since then.. there was something about those hours in the sun, something about seeing the flowers bloom.. something about matching the amount of work dad put in.. something about that Sunday “job” satisfaction that an air conditioned office, laptop and salary on the last working day of every the month have never been able to match since..

Any way the gardening stint usually led into a break (spelt “cricket”) for me when dad made his way to cook the “special” mutton curry.. I just need to close my eyes and I can still feel the aroma making me breath deep to take in the most that I could of that “taste”…

The lunch would give away to a very deserving siesta.. Evenings would generally be spent on shopping for the coming week…

I really miss those Sunday’s today… there was something in those Sunday’s that I can no longer replicate.. Today when I look back.. there was actually only one thing special about those Sundays…just one..

I got to spend an entire day with dad… yes that was all that turned those “days” into “Sundays”…