Sunday evenings are synonymous with depression for me. The impending monday always feels so much more ominous than the actual monday when you are living through it. It also doesn’t help that The Dude starts roaming around with a sullen face, like all is gone, since his monday starts much earlier than mine. And he does this pretty early on, like around 4 PM while I am still reveling in the fact that atleast there’s time for a siesta. All in all, this sort of a gloomy atmosphere is not one I feel at any other time in a regular week.
But we cannot change the days of the week can we? As I have said before, the pain of living through the week is what makes the weekends so awesome. Otherwise Saturday would just be yet another day and that doesn’t sound right at all. Anyway, back to the Sunday evening, I usually do nothing after our weekly round of grocery shopping which I try and finish pre-lunch, which is followed by a nap, and then a lot of lazing around waiting for doom, or in other words, monday to strike.
Today was no different. I had followed my schedule to a T, adding a wee bit of shopping at the sales, after the groceries were set. When I woke up in the evening, however, I realised that I needed to go pick up my trousers, that I had given for an alteration. I tried to convince the Dude to go pick them up for me. ‘Go for a run. You need to step out to feel better. Then pick up my trousers.’ But he caught on to my ulterior motives and chose to get back to the PS3 and play street cricket, face just as sullen as before.
So I decided to step out, when Zo asked me where I was off to. And at the spur of the moment, it made sense to tag her along as well. So we went, mom and daughter, to pick the altered pair of pants from the nearby mall. The whole activity took 20 mins. We were about to leave when she spotted some guy in a Doraemon costume in the mall’s central area, one floor below. A pretty regular thing, they have some event or the other here, including Bollywood celebs visiting when their movies are about to release. By the time we reached the area, Doraemon had disappeared. Zo’s face fell, but in a moment they announced a magic show for kids.
We settled down. The guy on the stage did the regular tricks, making a ball disappear, making it appear out of nowhere; tying up a pair of scarves, and then dissolving the knots magically. It was fun to watch. But what was amazing was how much Zo enjoyed the whole set up. When the guy said the ball had disappeared in the sky, she stared at the ceiling, and looked at me with wonderment, going “The ball is gone in the clouds! How will he get it back!” The worry, the amazement, was so real, so genuine, something you can only see in the eyes of a 3 year old I guess.
Anyway, the show got over, and we were walking back, and she was happy except that we missed Doraemon, when he appeared, out of no where, as if by magic. She was overjoyed, shook hands, got a picture clicked and walked back home with me. Once she reached home, she couldn’t stop talking of the show, or how she met Doraemon. And just like that, my Sunday evening depression got reduced to less than half of what it was a few hours ago.
And suddenly, I feel more than recharged to face the demon that’s monday.