It is Sunday once again. Sunday mornings always take me back to the times when Sundays were meant only to be enjoyed wholeheartedly. It has been many long years since I looked upon a Sunday as a holiday in which work has no place at all. As a little girl, I used to watch my father making full use of the leisure that Sunday allowed him. During the week days, he would return late from office and bring some files with him, which he studied till midnight. However, he did no office work on a Sunday. At the same time, he did many things that he kept pending during the week.
My brother and I helped him sort his bookshelves, wipe the books with a duster and keep them back neatly in rows. This was an activity we used to love. He would tell us about the various books, where he had bought them or who had gifted them to him, what they contained and how often he had read them. We imbibed his love for books and reading. And we are truly grateful for that.
Sundays were spent mostly at home in those days with a long walk around the Race Course (where we stayed) in the evenings (with ice creams and chocolates thrown in). Dinner was always special with all our favourite dishes lovingly prepared by mom. And friends of my parents would invariably drop in for evening tea. Anecdotes and jokes would be exchanged and the cookies, namkeens and poha would add to the fun.
Sundays would stretch and seem never-ending. I wonder how the days would look so very long. I guess it was because the pace of life was much slower, technology had hardly made any inroads into our lives, it was a real world instead of a largely virtual one, family members were very close to each other and nothing like a rat race was part of anyone’s life.
It sometimes seems to me that perhaps I am biased, perhaps I look upon those years through rose-tinted glasses. But then I realise that it is not a prejudiced view. All the people in the family and my friends agree with me on this. life was indeed far less complicated and so were people. Nobody showed off, neighbours did not try to be always one-up on each other, people were less secretive, they shared more with each other and the feeling that neighbours were part of the family was most amazing! lifelong relationships with neighbours proved more rewarding than those with one’s relatives. Happiness and grief were all shared with neighbours and the support system they provided was invaluable.
Sunday was the day when dishes were exchanged with neighbours. I can still remember that many a Sunday at lunch time, Shukla aunty (who belonged to lucknow) would send us mouthwatering patauds (leaves of arbi fried with besan). I would eat only those for lunch. The neighbours really savoured the gajrela (gajar ka halwa) and the gobi ka paranthas prepared by my mother.
Sometimes dad would take us to watch the crazy kushti that used to be held at Parade Ground on Sundays. The sight of the wrestlers was intimidating. My brother enjoyed this greatly but I did not go with them after seeing it twice. It was not my cup of tea. Once we went to see a magic show by Gogia Pasha and I can never forget that colourful figure with a red pagdi performing amazing tricks and saying: ‘Gilli, Gilli, Gilli!’
So Sundays were for all the things which were after your heart. The mind was kept on a shelf and it was the heart which had a field day. Going to melas, going to the local bazaar, visiting friends and neighbours, eating sumptuous lunches and dinners, listening to stories on the radio, watching Doordarshan in the mornings and of course, indulging in a siesta — these were things Sundays were made of in those long lost days .
Now, I make a list of what all tasks have to be completed on Sunday. The week days are not enough to finish all one’s work. And Sunday comes like a friend who helps us achieve many targets and accomplish these tasks. It is more about work now .The free time on a Sunday has become a dream. One day, I will make efforts to ensure that I can enjoy my Sunday in the manner of my childhood. God willing, it will happen.