Most Sundays I stay at home, doing nothing of absolute consequence. I would do my week's long laundry on Sunday by hand. I would give my face and body a good scrub. I would do all sorts of little mundane things that I usually wouldn't have the time to do any other day and maybe because of this reason alone, I found Sundays to be quietly fulfilling. It is a day that feels like fairydust is scattered in the air, changing the atmosphere. I feel distinctly that the usual hustle and bustle gets muted and the world seems to be set on a slow-mo. There is a playground just right below my apartment and children would shriek in joy there often but on Sundays, I do not hear them at all. Such tranquility is so rare and precious that I want to soak in its good grace.
This is one of those Sundays. To make it complete, there was a gentle drizzle to wash the city afresh of the haze that had plagued us for the past few days and all the greens outside my window are now clean and waving happily in the wind again.
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