Where Sundays aren’t afraid of Monday blues

Unlike the West, our country is used to having a six-day work week. Sunday is usually the only off day.

My Sunday begins with checking my Facebook account while sipping the morning tea. Pictures of Saturday night parties uploaded by my urban friends in the wee hours are on top of the news feed. Sunday to them is an antidote to beat the hangover of Saturday night.

I decided to make the most of my day off this Sunday by taking a trip to the farm while still scrolling down my news feed on Facebook.

My metropolitan friends had all marked their ‘check-ins’ into fancy restaurants offering buffet and beers to get some break from the routine of cooking at home. While they were busy checking in, I was busy checking out people of Bhagowal village in Hoshiarpur district.

I saw a montage of human images that was more rewarding than a morning with a buffet in a fancy restaurant. I saw mothers giving head massage to their children, using oil of pungent odour. Every now and then, they would knock some sense into wayward young minds with a gentle snap of their their firm hands on their heads – forcing them to sit erect and attentive.

My Instagram was soon flooded with hashtags and pictures of some of the most exotic meals my friends were enjoying in the city. But in Bhagowal, Kartar Kaur, my neighbour with cosmic grace, was stepping out of her house with a casserole of freshly cooked ‘saag’ (spinach) for her neighbours. Buffets in Bhagowal village mean unlimited sharing with neighbours. More than food, what they share is warmth.

The contrast between the rural and urban Sundays was brought home

to me as I heard Harjit Kaur complaining over a phone call received from a distant relative. “It is rude to call someone on a Sunday afternoon,” she said, implying that long siestas are a Sunday ritual for rural housewives who don’t get the luxury of sleeping till late – unlike their sisters in cities.

A mother of three, Sunday for Harjit meant asking her husband to lift the trunks from the attics, her winter wardrobe needed to be placed out in the terrace to deodorize the woollen wear and to her son, Subhegh Singh, it meant to flaunt sweaters that till last year belonged to the elder siblings.

Unlike the chaotic traffic of cities, Bhagowal has never been in a hurry to meet the future. Quiet, empty roads welcome you on Sunday mornings, with groups of children running in no direction, giggling about skipping homework. Occasionally, you come across children racing deflated and old bicycle tyres, whipping them with sticks. School or college lads leisurely gather in barren fields for their stint with Sunday cricket.

Small towns such as Hoshiarpur still roll their Sundays out in leisurely and laidback nonchalance. In some ways, there is something so serenely immortal about the way time passes on Sunday mornings in my city. No one seems to be in a hurry and the hour and minute hands on the iconic Clock Tower (Ghanta Ghar) move as if they were reluctant to take the town into the future. Everyone knows that the clock up there is meant to record eternity, not time.

Sundays in small towns are not afraid of Monday blues.

UNLIKE THE CHAOTIC TRAFFIC OF CITIES, BHAGOWAL HAS NEVER BEEN IN A HURRY TO MEET THE FUTURE