Saturday / Solitude

Saturday is the day I get to flee. And I don’t stop till I get to the place where I hide myself. The joy is as much in the running as it is in the reuniting.

The restlessness enlarges before it explodes:

Like the moment in which longing lovers embrace after a stretched separation, passionately attempting to defeat the reality that they must exist in separate bodies.

Like the moment in which the pressure releases, and the restrained coil unfurls into independence.

And like the moment in which a restored bird rediscovers its wings. And soars…

The unfailing sun is humbled by thin curtains, thick blankets and tired limbs. Clocks don’t dare disturbing dainty, delicate dreams. The transition to consciousness is voluntary: an unhurried, beautiful realisation that what’s coming is just as blissful as what is being left behind.

My rested body throbs with the energy of anticipation. I spare myself the obligatory morning meal and sink myself into the couch with a thick wad of luxury: large sheets of paper that would become redundant in a matter of hours, but not before immortalising the previous day.

Just as the powers of the mind begin to wane, the warm, familiar aroma of Mom’s cooking permeates the air – one of those precious things that transform a house into home. I take my preferred seat before the television, and as the delicacies are laid before me, one after another, I feed first my appetite and then my hungry, hungry soul. Every grain of the devoured meal disintegrates within, to spread the most delightful feeling of well-being and contentment. The satiated spirit liberates the mind, and the simplest moments on screen trigger uninhibited laughter and tears.

The pampering continues with an extended session of hydro therapy. Very few sensations compare to the one which is produced by hot water, when it ever so gradually washes away the weariness from the labour of the week gone by. Every little ritual is repeated in poetic slow motion, permitting the water to percolate to every corner and work its magic charm. The cleansed skin suddenly begins to breathe, exhaling a new found vitality that emanates from a complete healing.

I now find myself alone in my room, brave as I can be with just one piece of clothing on me in the form of a wet towel. The increased volume at which the peppy numbers start blaring from the radio is wildly encouraging. What usually follows is a rowdy demonstration of raw, unadulterated ecstasy: as ridiculous as it is exhilarating. It would never qualify as any form of dancing, but I couldn’t care less. Nothing is as uplifting as playing a complete moron, especially without a costume.

By now, I have attained a heightened state of happiness, with hours and hours of my most favourite thing in the world to look forward to: solitude.

It is best indulged in at certain special places:

Like the terrace of my home in our quiet neighbourhood at dusk. The world seems perfectly peaceful as little boys try to squeeze in another game of cricket before it is too dark to see the ball, and flocks of birds make their way back home before it is too dark to see where they are going. The sky turns a mystical orange as the calm evening air is stirred by an evocative voice delivering the azaan from the mosque down the road.

Like the mind of a great writer. It is the unforgettable smell of old pages that first casts a spell. And then it is the web of words, fashioned from the captivating imagination of a gifted storyteller or the infectious wisdom of an independent thinker, which holds you hostage. The enchantment prevails, as word after word transports, delights and enriches you.

And like the rhythm of a timeless tune. Nothing else can change the flavour of a moment as effortlessly, or enhance the quality of an experience as dramatically, as music can. It violates all physical laws as it stimulates emotions and creates energy out of nothing at all. It nourishes you, and breaks your heart. It gives you hope, and moves you to tears. It gives you a life, and a sense of everything it is not.

At the end of the day, I steal a few moments under the endless, starry sky, and engage in the endearing illusion of eternal companionship. It is a wonderful vision, but revisiting dreams that never come true only leaves you with that agonizing feeling of emptiness. So I quit reminiscing about times that never actually existed, or mourning the loss of my innocence, and quietly retire to a space where I can be myself: still, unperturbed and limitless.