Peppiness

April 3, 2013 by Usha Pisharody 13 Comments

The pearly glow of dawn trickled in through the gaps the fluttering curtains made. Craning her neck backwards she looked at the clock. Nearing six. Should she or not? She gave up and got up anyway. It was too early, and too new a day to lend it to heaviness.

Her husband shifted, groaned, when she got up. Missed her warmth, more likely. He lucked out, she decided. She wasn’t going to cuddle him this Sunday. She cleaned up and made tea. Left a cup for him, to warm in the microwave later. Then she wandered out into the balcony. Her favourite time of the day. The nip in the air, the tang of a freshness that  never duplicated; each day’s flavour was unique. Or perhaps she had simply forgotten the previous day’s? Whatever.

Today was Lazy Day. She wasn’t going to do a THING. Anything that needed to be done would be done, however. She stopped short of making herself that promise. She knew how promises were with her. They reneged, each and every darned time. Today she would play the hours without the page, or the page turner.

The newspaper boy, earphones plugged in from his mobile, expertly threw her three sets of dailies her way. Ah. Bliss. An hour later, and she was leisurely reading though some interesting features in the magazine section, smiling at some genial jibes on the state of affairs in the virtual world, when she felt a tickle on the nape of her neck. He had bent over to blow on her neck, followed by a light peck.

“Ummmm….” she said.

“You’re heartless, d’you know that?” He grinned at her.

“Of course”, she smirked.”Your tea is the only thing I’m going to cater for today. You need to warm it up.” She poked her tongue at him.

“Careful darling, Don’t get all decisive on me. You know how you get undecided really fast.”And he stuck his tongue out at her.

She giggled. He trailed his fingers over her shoulders and hair, on the way out of the balcony, to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later he was back, on his chair.

“So what’s new today?” He picked up one of the dailies that screamed of scandal, of a Minister and his domestic troubles. “Oh him.” Cuckoo. Mainstream news was so cynical. Nothing ever was sacrosanct either. He suddenly started laughing. She kicked out and wanted to know why.

“Here’s a feature- an ode, I’d say- about how women can never be lazy.” He continued to laugh intermittently.

“Oh? I’m not going to read it, but I’ll show you how I can. ME.” Ignoring the bad grammar, which he would not notice anyway, she was determined to show him how a lazy day is spent. He only rolled his eyes at her.

She finished her tea, nice and cold though it was, dumped the rest of the dailies on his lap, ruffled his hair and went inside. Switched on the TV. 9XM had some crazy songs playing. Music? She gave a shudder! Switching channels, she came across a favourite. Goodtimes, the NDTV; a sure-fire engaging channel. She’d just watch some mouth-watering recipes and cooking, and then hope he’d go out and get something. Already she was regretting the “I’ll show you” she threw at him!

There went Vicky, the egoistic charmer, with his dashing style. Wait a minute, why was he up so early on the channel? Oh, a re-run. She sat through it, drool collecting by the drop each moment. Automatically she went over the ingredients she might just have. The episode was over, and now came some dessert suggestions. Oatmeal cookies with whipped cream. Ah. Ah. Aaaah. She changed channels, and caught a favourite playing on HBO. Before Sunrise. She practically sub vocalized each bit Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke said to each other. The tantalizing lingering feeling of love, of anticipation, of desire… it seeped into her, all over again. She felt warm and marshmallowy, just as he came and joined her on the couch, wrapping his arms around her.

Nine in the morning, and her lazy day was hotting up. She gave in, to the surreal way he always made her feel. She did not question, just savoured the magic. Till her stomach wanted her to pay attention.

“Baby, me wants food” Petulantly, as a child would. He loved it when she was that way.

“Mmmmm… Me too.” He got up and fixed breakfast, which he brought her to the couch, and joined her. They talked, laughed a lot, ate, watched TV, in between, and did not stir out of the couch. It was a perfect Sunday. That was yet to get over.

A while later, sated with food, sleepy, she went back to bed and curled up with a book. She was re reading The Alchemist. There was something about a Sunday, and re reading that made her feel good. You knew what was coming, and you did not need to be unduly anxious about the characters doing strange things. She wondered what he was doing, and could not stay there.

Getting up, she peeked out of the bedroom. And heard noises from the Kitchen. Uh oh. A Lazy Sunday meant a Manic Monday if he was loose in the Kitchen. She sashayed in pretending to just potter around. He quirked an eyebrow at her questioningly. She shrugged her shoulders.

What was he doing! Chopping the spinach that way, or shredding the cabbage with  the scissors! And why did he need that amount of green chilly? Was the chicken fully thawed before he put it in the microwave? He hummed a tuneless sound, obviously enjoying himself. When she tried to do something, he sent her off, promising delicacies never heard of.

She went back to the book. The Universe, she decided, had conspired to make her break her promise, the one she refused to make anyway. Closing the book, she picked up her towel and clothes and headed for the bathroom. Half an hour later, refreshed, happy, she came to the kitchen, and cheerfully ordered him out. Took over from where he left off.

“It’s only self-preservation” she defended.

“I know. Those instincts of yours are really good you know. You sure you don’t want me to do anything?”

“Baby, just go. You’ve proved your point”

He grabbed her, twirled and set her down with a quick peck.

The I-told-you-so was clearly superfluous. And they giggled together.

***

2 April, through to 3 April, just after midnight
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The Experiments are simply getting crazier, aren’t they? The muse is manic. 😛