Sunday

The day with a different sunlight. Although I do not know whether it is the intensity, the clarity or just the feeling, what I do believe that it is just - different. One reason for the sunlight being different is that it takes me back to my childhood days, when the weekends used to mean a load of homework given by the teachers at school, saying "you have a day and a half to do this" which often used to be to the tune of solving an entire book full of exercises. Nevertheless, thanks to an artificially elicited diligent effort on Saturday afternoon, the Sunday used to be free from all that burden riding my mind.
Surprisingly, this was one day that never saw my mother waking me up. For the simple reason that she never needed to. Up at 6 AM, all geared up for the once-in-a-week's-time walk to the derelict granite quarry at the top of the Chatushrungi tor, I shriek out the code signal to get my compadres out of their snug apartments.

All this for the pinnacle of both the walk and the hill, marked by the sunrise, whelming all of us neo-teenagers with immense pleasure. The sunshine now starts getting hotter by the minute. The stomach notifies that it has been empty for long enough now. Accelerated more by the hunger than by the slope downwards, the dispersed teen is now back home. Picturing what must be stewing in the kitchen, I knock, and with the dropping bolts, a deep puff in - Pav bhaji.

Aai remembers it from Tuesday!

Holding back till the feast is now a herculean task, and aids to divert attention from the roaring hunger include Sindbad Ki Safarein, Potli Baba Ki, Duck Tales, Talespin and Jungle book (There is a whole lot to say about the childhood TV, but some other time).

Finally it comes - crispish golden baked pav and coriander, onion and a dash-of-lemon garnished bhaji with lots of butter. After the stuffing relish, it is time for all of us to get to our weekend schedule - my reading, dad's market stint, little sister's little-family-of-hers simulation and ma's thorough house cleaning.

Relics from the past (mostly in the form of books - they were my only friends for a while) show up as the house gets cleaned and rearranged - old Chandoba's, Diwali special issues of Kishor, Saaptaahik Sakal and books I once made my parents buy for me and never read. Yay, more stuff to read!

Dad is back now, and I am already with my hands elbow deep in the market bag to check out what he has got.

Lunch, after mom is done with everything, is just a formality, with a little rice and dal. As the rest of my family opts for a siesta, it's my time for revamping my riding machine - the 18 speed Shimano Index System fitted BSA High Lander Bull Fighter - hands on the gear box, with screw drivers to tweak it, in addition to the routine overhauling and oiling. Almost done with it but for a test ride, and I am already imagining myself blazing past the University of Pune traffic lights on the slope towards the city.

Shadows now elongate and it is the time to get out to the field. I yank my bat out of its long cover and join the noisy team for a 10 overs quick match till 'Bad Light'.

Come dusk and mom is already on the lookout for me - "Tejas, fast. We are to go out". I dart home and hurriedly dress up, bickering with my younger sister for an unobstructued view in the mirror. After a short stroll through the market for ma's daily needs shopping and sugarcane juice with dad "till she is done", I am home and glued to the TV again. (Discovery of India, Surabhi and Alif Laila - the 'some other time' stuff).

A dinner along with all this and it is the time to sleep, picturing the incidents in the books and ruminating how I could have saved my wicket if I had not tried hitting a sixer the second time.

And in spite of all this, I look forward more to Saturday, because it is the messenger of the Sunday on its way!