What Happened to Sunday?

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Abstract

ot exclusive now. They don’t feel special. It’s just another day without work.Sundays were about getting tanned, collecting bruises on arms and legs, getting dirt on t-shirt and trouser, running to friend’s house to gulp in the chilled water from the refrigerator. Sundays were about brotherhood, sportsmanship, bonding, winning, and losing. Sundays were lessons, which were far superior to the lessons learned on the weekdays.Sundays were about comics. My family subscribed two of them for me, which would arrive on Sundays. Sundays were about the beauty of waiting for them, the curiosity to find the rest of the story, the eagerness to put the fresh pages close to the nose and inhale it deeply, and of course, to discuss it with friends on Monday at school.Sundays were about the special cuisine, the chicken curry, and the mouth-watering experience of running home for lunch after the games, knowing that something special is waiting for you.Sundays were about the stories from grandma, of mythology, her life, struggles of grandfather when he fought wars for the nation, and more. Sundays were worth waiting for. Sundays were longer and eventful.

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What happened to our Sundays? What happened to the beauty of waiting? What happened to our curiosity to watch, listen, and learn? What happened to our non-aversion towards dust, dirt, and sun? What happened to us?Sundays bring me memories of Sundays from my childhood, and I thank my mind for those memories. I thank my mind for putting an effort to remember the good parts. I thank my mind for creating a sensation of yearning for the good parts.I hate what Sundays have become. No, that is a wrong way to put it. I hate what we have become. I hate how we have changed the meaning of Sundays. I hate how fast things are. I hate how instantaneous our needs and wants get fulfilled. I hate that we don’t have to wait.Are we waiting now, for the pandemic to end, our results to turn negative, the day when we can freely hug our beloved ones, the day when we can fly again, the day when we can go back to being oblivious about the greatness of the small things in life?But I thank that I can still wait for something. I am relieved that the quality is not extinct, but is something we choose to ignore, something we bury under the debris of ‘comfort’.</article></body>

What Happened to Sunday?

I have been living a virtual life for quite some time, but the gravity of which has further sucked me in, since the pandemic has started. Life for me happens at midnight when I find comfort in the sofa at the television room, head rested on a couple of stacked pillows, a bedsheet pulled over my body, and flickering colours from the television glow the room like fireflies. Throw-in a few cans of beer and some chips to munch, and I would call it a perfect night.

But somewhere in mind is a feeling, something good, about the beauty of waiting. A different era, where less was more. Television was all about a single channel, and the wait was all about the Sunday movie. Sunday! Do Sundays matter anymore? Sundays are not exclusive now. They don’t feel special. It’s just another day without work.

Sundays were about getting tanned, collecting bruises on arms and legs, getting dirt on t-shirt and trouser, running to friend’s house to gulp in the chilled water from the refrigerator. Sundays were about brotherhood, sportsmanship, bonding, winning, and losing. Sundays were lessons, which were far superior to the lessons learned on the weekdays.

Sundays were about comics. My family subscribed two of them for me, which would arrive on Sundays. Sundays were about the beauty of waiting for them, the curiosity to find the rest of the story, the eagerness to put the fresh pages close to the nose and inhale it deeply, and of course, to discuss it with friends on Monday at school.

Sundays were about the special cuisine, the chicken curry, and the mouth-watering experience of running home for lunch after the games, knowing that something special is waiting for you.

Sundays were about the stories from grandma, of mythology, her life, struggles of grandfather when he fought wars for the nation, and more. Sundays were worth waiting for. Sundays were longer and eventful.

Sundays bring me memories of Sundays from my childhood, and I thank my mind for those memories. I thank my mind for putting an effort to remember the good parts. I thank my mind for creating a sensation of yearning for the good parts.

I hate what Sundays have become. No, that is a wrong way to put it. I hate what we have become. I hate how we have changed the meaning of Sundays. I hate how fast things are. I hate how instantaneous our needs and wants get fulfilled. I hate that we don’t have to wait.

Are we waiting now, for the pandemic to end, our results to turn negative, the day when we can freely hug our beloved ones, the day when we can fly again, the day when we can go back to being oblivious about the greatness of the small things in life?

But I thank that I can still wait for something. I am relieved that the quality is not extinct, but is something we choose to ignore, something we bury under the debris of ‘comfort’.