Sundays have been very different over last few months, on a positive side, I must admit. Being married has its perks. Waking up lazily, only to be served with Darjeeling tea followed by a brief breakfast and running to local market to buy tomatoes. Its different than what I had experienced before.
Sunday's were special days when I was a kid. My father, being in medical profession, invariably went missing for most part of the weeks traveling across different hospitals, only to turn up on Sundays with a smile and a big bag of chicken brought from local bazaar. Whatever, anger my Mum had would then vanish within a few minutes and she start cooking vigorously putting all her skills and ample amount of green chillies, clarified butter and garlic. Entire house would start smelling like as if a feast is going to start. Smiles, laughter could be heard across the narrow 'kuccha' lanes.
I would sit near my father and start updating him on all the major life changing events that stuck me that week, like me taking a catch on a friendly cricket match after running 20 meters! or what my life science teacher told me about frogs digestive process. He would listen patiently and query as if he was present in those situations all along. I wondered how he always has positive answers to every aspects of life!
There was used to be palpable excitement on seeing father, hearing his stories and patiently waiting for the lunch to be prepared. Somehow, wait gets over, I would quickly rush for a cold shower, sit on ground on straw mat for my Mum to serve hot fragmented rice, spicy chicken curry, and my favorite poppy seeds fried with onion (Posto-bhaja).
I can still smell its fragrance on my hand, my heart beat stills goes fast when thought about the way I used jump around with wooden stick pretending to be warrior on seeing my father and randomly hug my Mum for no apparent reasons.
I still search for those Sunday's in my hand.
Sunday's were special days when I was a kid. My father, being in medical profession, invariably went missing for most part of the weeks traveling across different hospitals, only to turn up on Sundays with a smile and a big bag of chicken brought from local bazaar. Whatever, anger my Mum had would then vanish within a few minutes and she start cooking vigorously putting all her skills and ample amount of green chillies, clarified butter and garlic. Entire house would start smelling like as if a feast is going to start. Smiles, laughter could be heard across the narrow 'kuccha' lanes.
I would sit near my father and start updating him on all the major life changing events that stuck me that week, like me taking a catch on a friendly cricket match after running 20 meters! or what my life science teacher told me about frogs digestive process. He would listen patiently and query as if he was present in those situations all along. I wondered how he always has positive answers to every aspects of life!
There was used to be palpable excitement on seeing father, hearing his stories and patiently waiting for the lunch to be prepared. Somehow, wait gets over, I would quickly rush for a cold shower, sit on ground on straw mat for my Mum to serve hot fragmented rice, spicy chicken curry, and my favorite poppy seeds fried with onion (Posto-bhaja).
I can still smell its fragrance on my hand, my heart beat stills goes fast when thought about the way I used jump around with wooden stick pretending to be warrior on seeing my father and randomly hug my Mum for no apparent reasons.
I still search for those Sunday's in my hand.
