It’s close to 3 on this Sunday afternoon, and there is something traditionally familiar about this afternoon as well. As if we had all gathered together to sing oft-sung hymns in the praise of oft-praised Gods…
The soft warmth in the wind, being spread around by the ceiling fan; the faint post-late-shower drowsiness; the sight of the reduced numbers of vehicles on the road, as if the traffic itself is taking an afternoon nap; the cozy smell of garlic and pepper being used in probably the apartment next door; the taste of potato wafers eaten in passing; the occasional rustling of the newspapers, as if adding a minor note to the afternoon symphony, which (unlike a traditional symphony) is an experience affecting all the senses…
For some reason it feels as if time stops for a little longer on a Sunday afternoon. Looks like Time itself is busy remembering every other Sunday, and is perhaps pausing to reflect on times gone by. And every single thing looks like it has happened before. Like a photocopy of earlier moments. Almost the same everytime, regardless of the years gone by, or of the change in the entire set of surroundings, like a photograph, only a little affected by the weather but overall still the very same.
And it’s with the same photo-album-viewing anticipation that one waits for these afternoons, to relive the same, simple sensations that thankfully, somehow seem to withstand all the other stuff that time throws in our way. As much as people believe in TGIF, perhaps a different kind of positive belief should also be attributed to TGISA…
The soft warmth in the wind, being spread around by the ceiling fan; the faint post-late-shower drowsiness; the sight of the reduced numbers of vehicles on the road, as if the traffic itself is taking an afternoon nap; the cozy smell of garlic and pepper being used in probably the apartment next door; the taste of potato wafers eaten in passing; the occasional rustling of the newspapers, as if adding a minor note to the afternoon symphony, which (unlike a traditional symphony) is an experience affecting all the senses…
For some reason it feels as if time stops for a little longer on a Sunday afternoon. Looks like Time itself is busy remembering every other Sunday, and is perhaps pausing to reflect on times gone by. And every single thing looks like it has happened before. Like a photocopy of earlier moments. Almost the same everytime, regardless of the years gone by, or of the change in the entire set of surroundings, like a photograph, only a little affected by the weather but overall still the very same.
And it’s with the same photo-album-viewing anticipation that one waits for these afternoons, to relive the same, simple sensations that thankfully, somehow seem to withstand all the other stuff that time throws in our way. As much as people believe in TGIF, perhaps a different kind of positive belief should also be attributed to TGISA…
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