Sundays meant waking up late but not so late that you missed breakfast. Sundays meant newspapers you had time to read, coffee, omlettes, toast and oranges. You'd finish with everything else and dig a thumb into one end of the orange and breathe deeply. Cof
fee pots would be replenished time and again with great generosity and the sunlight would slide off the table.
Outside, people would be recovering from the exhaustions of breakfast: radios, knitting, books, shawls laid out on the lawns. Everyone had a favourite spot, a route which they took as the day progressed, following the sun like lazy boa constrictors.
At the back, pea flowers, ice flowers, dahlias and pansies would be in bloom. There would be time enough, in the evening, to catch the second shift of hot water. Until then, there were friends or roommates who would not be compelled to talk, the company of books, and the winter light in Delhi.
fee pots would be replenished time and again with great generosity and the sunlight would slide off the table.Outside, people would be recovering from the exhaustions of breakfast: radios, knitting, books, shawls laid out on the lawns. Everyone had a favourite spot, a route which they took as the day progressed, following the sun like lazy boa constrictors.
At the back, pea flowers, ice flowers, dahlias and pansies would be in bloom. There would be time enough, in the evening, to catch the second shift of hot water. Until then, there were friends or roommates who would not be compelled to talk, the company of books, and the winter light in Delhi.
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6 comments:
And now we have to make and serve and clear up the remains of the breakfast! Bah.
Dipali, my sympathies. :D This is why hostels fill one with nostalgia: no washing up to do!
The alligator looks happy.
km: yes...a well-fed somnolent creature is what I wanted. who cares about the car it turns into?
But you dont talk about what sundays mean now?
Born A Libran: BEcause eeither it would be exactly like, or so completely unlike, it doesn't bear talking about.
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