Lazy Afternoons

Laziness is something I'd like to say is inherent to all of us. Of course, that is something I'd only 'like' to say; it doesn't make it true. But based on what I've seen over the years, I think it would be safe to assume I'm right to say so. More than any other time, however, it seems to be that magical few hours in the middle of the day that seems to personify this quality more than anything else: the afternoon.

My family has always been one for great energy and vigour in terms of work to be done, things to be cleaned and furniture to be rearranged. But everything always fell silent the minute lunch was over and the clock struck 1. The house seems to slow down along with the world itself and soon, all you could hear was the gentle snoring of my grandfather or my father (they were both quite heavy sleepers). All was quiet and lazy. Till I knew the coast was clear, of course. I've never been able to sleep in the afternoon, something my mother never seems to get tired of telling people. What this afforded me, fortunately, was a free reign to the house to get up to all sorts of mischief without anyone to stop me. I'd climb the granite top of the kitchen to see what I could find in the upper shelves, roam in the garden around the house looking for things to dig up with a trowel I had found behind the fridge and open the cupboards in all the rooms as quietly as I could to see what was inside, while keeping a constant eye on the sleeping individuals in the room. The smells interested me the most around the house, seeing as I've already established my olfactory tradition throughout this blog. It was this smell of jeera rusks mixed with yellowing newspapers, that kind of dusty, nostalgic smell that made you hungry and sleepy at the same time. But despite all these nice memories, I still have my share of mischief to counter these impressions.

Pocket money always fascinates children and I was no different. It was a joy to get a few coins just to be able to put them into my piggy bank and hear it jingle. Though I never really had plans for the money, it was nice to have it. One afternoon, I climbed the granite in the kitchen as always and while scrounging in the cupboard, I found a small box of coins. Assuming they'd be given to me eventually, I took the box and emptied it into my piggy bank. Suffice to say, when my mother found the box empty and I, in my dutifully honest-under-pressure self, told her I'd taken it, the piggy bank was taken away and I never got pocket money after that. Another time, I found a small tube on top of the fridge filled with small white balls while looking in the freezer for ice-cream and I decided to try one. Finding to to be sweet, I emptied the entire bottle into my mouth and savoured the taste. When my grandmother woke up later and found the tube empty, she automatically turned to me ans asked me if I had eaten it. To this day, no one in my family ever stops thanking God that it was all just homeopathic medicine and that I wasn't found foaming at the mouth and convulsing. I guess the whole concept of  a 'keep medicines away from children' warning on the containers has some validation behind it...

Most of the other incidents involve me spilling things on the floor, trying desperately to mop it up before anyone finds out and still being found out in the end. My grandfather's box of powder (which I deliberately spilt in order to create a makeshift ice rink to slide on), salt, pepper, jam, green gram...the list just goes on. But I never stopped exploring the possibilities as a child. It was a magical time, really, with the sun shining bright and a warm glow to everything around the house. Recently, I've found out that entire cities can just shut down in the afternoon for a well-deserved nap (like the government employees take on a daily basis) while the world comes to a standstill. It's nice to know I'm not alone sometimes. For now, I sit back in the same easy-chair my mother kept catching me in during my childhood after my afternoon escapades and think about life, the world and what I have to eat next. Time for another trip to the kitchen, I think...

Ciao!

(It just happens to be coincidental that I decided to update my blog on New Year's day. Fate, destiny or whatever. You decide. Happy New Year everyone!) 

So, I’m going to construct a story for you. No, it doesn’t involve walls and stuff, just….a structure. You know, like Saussure said. It has characters, just like any other story and it involves two people. Or maybe some more people….. But there’s definitely people in it. Yes, like every other story there that exists. There are scenes that keep shifting, a little mind playing around and in it all, some comedians who keep the audience distracted while other stuff goes on behind the stage. Like changing and rehearsing and doing people in small rooms, made even more cumbersome by the tight spaces and tight clothes and loose morals. But that’s show business. The lights are supposed to come on, the guys are supposed to come on and the women have to play their parts, just like any other play you’ll see in the world. The trees are all green….too green if you ask me, but that’s okay. Nature takes care of the rest. Everyone just sits back and watches the show. Eats some popcorn and laughs at how stupid people look doing things that they wouldn’t do in real life….unless this is some realist drama, then people do exactly what they do in real life, but the stage just gives them some glamour while doing it. That guy in the big wig was right, even if he did dress like he was going for some flower show, “All the world’s a stage, all the men and women merely players”. The curtains will fall all you’ll all go home, sit with a bottle of scotch and stare at the glass while thinking about life. That’s how all stories are created, right? With a little time alone and a mind that roams free and without fear, like that old guy from India with the long beard said. You’ll keep refilling the glass and with every new one, you’ll see another story. Soon, the glass will be put back and you’ll rest your head back and start dreaming. There, the stories will start constructing themselves and become more you and you could ever be. That’s how stories happen. Wake up, pen it down and you’ll have a masterpiece. Till you drink it away and burn it all when you go mad that is. Never really trusted that pen and paper anyway….