It’s a Sunday morning. Now I hope that after I’ve posted this, I can tweak the blogger controls so that they show the time I’m talking about. But my past attempts to do that have somehow always failed. So, I just want you to know, that I wrote this on a Sunday morning. And right now, my clock shows 10.10 AM. Phew, I thought by the time I’d ended the last sentence, it would change to 10.11. And I’d have to sacrifice symmetry for the cause of truth. Thank goodness.
This is the first Sunday morning I’ve had all to myself in the longest time ever. Usually, it’s me and my mum, but she’s out of town for this week. And I have the house to myself. There’s work, true, but the work can be pushed off to some last minute, when I can finish it in a hurry, and forget that the minute ever existed. The way I see it, I’d rather sacrifice the whole of that minute, rather than give up a bit of every minute of this lovely day.
There’s loveliness to this word, lovely. Say it once, softly. It stumbles of your tongue, doesn’t it? But not without grace, much like a drop of water. A large, voluptuous drop of rain. Lovely reminds you of fresh, full lips, of apple cheeks. Of dark hair, and forest green. Of red hydrangeas, and blurred lines, blurred vision. It’s the face you could love. Unlike Pretty, who you could like, or Beautiful, who you could admire. And unlike Pretty or Beautiful, Lovely is subjective. Fickle. What is Pretty or Beautiful can be lovely, but what is not can also be. The loveliness of Lovely lies in how it depends so little on the physical, factual details of body and face. Loveliness is a matter of the moment, the slant of sunlight, the particular shade of green that you wore. I love Lovely. It’s a lovely word.
So, how am I spending my Sunday morning? We got one of those swivel chairs for the computer, and honestly, I don’t know why we didn’t get one earlier. I’ve been spinning and swiveling all morning, and am spinning as I type.
I oiled my hair sometime back, gave instructions to Kajol-di, who cooks for us, and then sat down in front of the computer, expecting something to happen. That’s what makes the Internet so wonderful, that you can sit in your home, and the world hits you through your screen. Of course, that also dilutes the experience itself. I could be out right now, and be having so much more fun, rather than sitting here, letting one experience fade into each other. But then I wouldn’t be sitting here and writing, would I? Considering that I write so little, I need every moment of this.
So, where was I? Yes, I oiled my hair. Preparing for that moment in the afternoon when I’d fall asleep, smelling my freshly-shampooed hair. I have Simon and Garfunkel playing, thanks to a friend. He mentioned two lines from America. If you’re wondering why I am writing this way today, you can trace it all back to that. See, I just can’t start writing on anything. I need inspiration. It’s probably the sign of an average writer, not being able to just sit and write. And I’ve thought at least a million times while I have been writing this, that I wish I could write better. However, there’s a beauty to this, stumbling through words on a Sunday morning, listening to music you’ve never heard before. Grasping at thoughts at the edge of consciousness, trying to make them fit into an inadequate vocabulary.
I’ll go back to swiveling now. I’ve been swiveling at one place till now, think I’ll swivel all over the house now.