Post 4pm, On a Sunny Day

I hit the shower with mad vengeance at 4pm, all set to show the “oh so boring noon” what bliss could mean. Whetting my weapons for the deed include charging my iPod and grabbing “THE” book from the book shelf and setting it on the counter top, near the house keys. Shutting the door as rudely as possible on my nemesis, I take the road with complete ownership; not looking back, listening to music that I sometimes wouldn’t fancy lending an ear to, at home. Braving through odds such as a tricky traffic signal, pencil wide sidewalks, self juggling bikers, dense woods, lonely streets etc. and relishing undemanding thrills such as hopping wild bunnies, glitzy wreaths and tiny streams, I enter the PARK, like a religious preacher, a book in hand and divine music ringing out loud from my iPod.

Surprisingly, my favorite spot is never taken and I seat myself proudly like it’s an exclusive reservation made by my personal secretary. Like the Bible, a few pages each day of The Kalam Effect, a few minutes of thoughtless staring into the water fountain, gazing up at the blue-green effect of the sky-tree combination, thinking deep about the illusion of woods that never seem to end – that’s enough to restore my sanity after the mad silence of the noon or the mad holler of the unrealistic –reality shows’ -midday –melodrama.

The old Vietnamese couple who fish like only this fish makes their three course meal (never failing to never catch a fish); the beautiful baby boy with an unparalleled dad, who slaps ducks on their backs, sending them quacking for life into the big beautiful lake and his fear for dogs which he carefully conceals with a kick in the air well after the dog moves ahead; a man in a suit with his dog furiously sniffing into the grass, like he’s slave to Sherlock Holmes; a big burlesque man with a detective cap and secret agent walk, who seats himself opposite to me, across the lake; the huge Indian family of boys and girls from 5-12 indulging in some unfathomable activity near the lake (I still fail to decipher their roots – they look both Telugu and what I broadly, safely and ignorantly classify “North”) crying out frequently “Shut up, You Shut up”; Grave faced little boys playing baseball matches, who almost con you into fearing there’s a death penalty for losing. They all give me immense satisfaction and happiness, almost as if I reached out smugly at the lonely noon and said “Loser, loser”.

I look up occasionally from Kalam’s magnetic effect, at the glimpse of any metallic silver car that enters the park. When I hear the “honk, honk” from behind, I know now that home’s finally ready to play “home sweet home.” With five minutes of togetherness in the park, I recite snippets that are all happiness, forgetting the loser of a long day that trails way behind me now. Sinking in the beauty of the sunny day at the park (Sunny days are special… like dog years and leap years), we drive back honk honking happy smokes in the air. Now, that’s what I call bliss, Post 4pm, on a Sunny Day.