Column

The Spectator

Sundays are supposed to be no-pressure stress-free days. Days when you wake up late, read the papers in bed, go out for brunch, come home, catch a good movie on TV, have a glass of wine with friends — and then go blissfully to sleep.

This is what Sundays are about, what they tell us in the papers the beautiful people do, what is the universal norm — right?

And so yesterday, in keeping with this universal Sunday norm and to belong to the glamorous crowd, I thought I’d wake up around ten, read the papers, etc.

So imagine my horror when I woke up at the crack of dawn! Bright as a bullet, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed at six! This can’t be happening to me on a Sunday, I said to myself.

What will people say? I have to try and sleep till ten.

Finally, after much tossing and turning, tired from all that effort, I decided to abandon the exercise and catch up with the rest of the Sunday holiday spirit. So on to the papers.

But there were so many of them, each with its own supplement, its cheery guaranteed-to-make-you-feel-inadequate supplement with advice on lifestyle, fashion and trends — that after reading diligently through the first four — I gave up as the aggregate of ploughing through them fostered a vague feeling of discontent with my life.

Oh well, so much for the papers. On to brunch at a nice sun-filled restaurant.

But it wasn’t so easy. What to wear? Everyone knows that there is a certain dress code for Sunday brunches in Mumbai. That you wouldn’t be caught dead without white linen, big shades, capris and slip-on sandals. Getting this ensemble together was not easy and then the restaurant was fully booked by the time we arrived (everyone following the Sunday norm, you see) and we had to wait forty-five minutes to be seated.

But not to worry — at least one was following the Sunday norm and brunching at a trendy restaurant surrounded by glamorous people. So what if the music was too loud, the beer was not chilled, and the Mediterranean food had a Mahim feel to it — there was always a good movie to catch later.

But alas, the card on our set top box had run out — and no one could find the number to call. And the DVD library was shut (the owner following the Sunday norm too, you see).

Never mind, forget the movie — there are always a few friends over a glass of wine.

But hell, too much pressure which wine to decant, without Sanjay Menon at hand to tell us whether a Riesling would be right for a Sunday summer evening or a Chardonnay — and the friends might think us philistines — what trauma!

But at the risk of serving the wrong wine and committing social hara-kiri, friends were called, everyone argued over the same old things that they did every Sunday, the wine was drunk, and a good night’s sleep was looked forward to.

But sleep did not come easy. The Mediterranean prawns from brunch sat uneasily on our stomach, the conversations rankled and a vague feeling of irritation pervaded the air.

Why this should be the case when one had spent Sunday in a stress-free, no pressure way — the way the beautiful people spent it — was a mystery. Or why, one looked so longingly forward to Monday!

s_malavika@dnaindia.net