Sundays in hostels..

I'm not sure if Raymond’s feels like heaven, but a Sunday does. Specially when you can delightfully stop the alarm ignoring the snooze button royally and snuggle deeper into the blanket with a contented sigh.Wish i knew enough binary coding or programming or something about the chips to tweak the alarm in my phone to repeat only on weekdays than everyday. Nevertheless it does enough to serve the purpose of reinforcing the nervous system in alerting my senses and prevent seepage from the bladder. Be it my snoring roomie, the drillers or the marble polishing machines doing the renovation work (which is taking forever), nothing can trouble the alienated soul sailing away blissfully in sleep. Yet another day added to the saga without breakfast. All of us seem to have forgotten the word 'breakfast'. It's been months since we last had breakfast in the mess (the first day of college I suppose). There are exceptions, worshippers of the snooze button who crave for the gruesome combo of bread and the unsavory green liquid served on sunday mornings and not to slumber (people who don't need to snooze will not get my funda anyway).

Text your pals or ring up or do whatever it takes to book your chicken biriyani for lunch (the only dish to spice up your menu on a sunday). And team up with friends to make the grumpy manager the butt of all jokes or avenge with more than one helping of salad without his knowledge for the overpriced biriyani which comes with a single piece of chicken (of a miniature chicken i suppose) which with many layers of colorful masala is made to look herculean. And to add to it you're graciously served a cupful of semisolid custard (freely flowing at times) making another disagreeable combo. Like other acquired tastes, I’ve begun to heartily appreciate the combo. Hack around or chatter away the slothful afternoon or join the zombie party for a nirvana number 'rape me' in the second floor (without disturbing the exam going students in the third floor that is), or feel homey with a gripping book and soft music in the tranquil first floor, or join the TV buffs, or enjoy the threadbare argument (political or whatever) of the very few IAS aspirants crowding the newspaper room. Pro Schumi? or pro Alonso? Nerve yourself for the race day (as far as my knowledge spans all race days are sundays). The juniors are made to occupy the bleachers and each one of them gets a role in the race, obviously not to drive a V8 engine or fill fuel in the pits but to join the cheerleaders to add more color to the race.

Make Sunday an excuse to dine out with friends or to watch a movie in the Cineplex. Banter over the phone with friends, grab a glass of milk from the night mess and kill time with friends into the small hours. Call it night and crash...

beep.. beep.. beep.. beep.. .. snooze.............