WEEKEND SYNDROME

At the onset of some weekend, when you get up rubbing your eyes and the clock ticking up above your head, its hands make smiley and it seems like a day to take things easy after ghosts from past continue to haunt you and with every hidden intention you too nod at it and think, “M GONA ROCK THIS WORLD” but little you know that it’s the conspiracy of heavenupabove to swindle every single gleaming happiness from your day.

Health of course is a vital thing for some of you, who out of every day’s frustration and animosity take time out and go on run. You come back home and eat healthy supplies in the days’ time thinking about the devil that’s spinning the web in mind, series of events, planned- unplanned transpiring in the darkness of night. As some of you might agree “Be in a healthy frame of body and mind before forfeiting your soul to the drinking Djinns”

There is one thing about this world- its unexpectedness. In the hierarchy of the expectedly unexpected places one place that rules are workplace. You will step out of your house with your mind buzzing some cowboy song and ears spilling it out. You are on cloud 9 till you reach a hidden dungeon somewhere in the ocean of buildings and you see the mocking faces staring at you, saying “you are late”. There will be strange calls, screaming, complaining and work would pile on and on and on.  Amidst these events when the Djinns seem so distant, you fight with all the courage trying to cut it out and a ghoulish figure appears in front, also called “THE BOSS” who would make sure that your life’s a hell and give you another “most important things to do before you leave” and now embroiled in fury your ears now spill blood.

Eventually when the day has surpassed all limits of being a true sadist, without even taking off hat, you slam the door behind you, leaving the rest of the world to sulk.  And you run, you don’t wanna be late, it’s not a date but you can’t even have a single drop of alcohol touching friends’ lips before you do, you need it more than anyone else (ghost of past). When you are fighting a prolonged hangover, it always feels safe to have couple of more drinks with some good smoke so that even if for a day, the emptiness of your heart fades away and you can have a relinquished life.

As you reach and ponder when you see shrugged shoulders and inviting gestures, you know you have landed at right place. Evening ablutions take out day’s dirt as well as melancholies attached with it and you all sit down pulling others pants and after a while every face in the circle knows what the call is. More than 3 people and conversations split up, some speaking politics, some games, other adventures, few misadventures and one would just remain focused on drinks and listen.

After you have satiated your throats with all the goodness of Bud, you think about some stuff you left on the table. You might be in dialogue then but inside your own head a monologue is playing Bob Marley’s PASS lyrics. Then all attentions are distracted by steps on ground and the cult is here, the legend of rubbing fingers and his peculiar laugh and out of respect or maybe fear the monologue hides itself in some corner of brain, only to appear in the later stage.

After another session when transmogrified fellows turn wolves snatching meat, look out for new adventures, the monologue appears again and this time all of you turn this place into a stage where actors enact their roles and the comedies of error follow. In a while you all see the clouds of smoke up above and beneath it, ocean of beers. This tempt could drive some of you in tucking your pants upon chest  and dancer inside take its toll, now there are whistles and you get into the mode of sudden Celebrity, nothing can stop you now, “ You are the play, the play is you”. Some of you even take this as a matter of pride on their manhood and start twisting buttocks and pistoning the pelvis, show comes to halt.

So, as you lie in some corner and retire, in other coordinates there are people with different feelings peeping out their faces, smiling, sad, overrated, underrated, remorse, gloried. Sometimes these are reflected to the others and sometimes to inner self, the seat of every action. As night deepens its color, some of others have succumbed to the dreamworld, while you light a cigarette and watch those rings of smoke being created and fading away as time passes and now the eyes are shut.

Mornings are always painful after dreary night. The monkeys hammer your head. In sometime search for food begins, and troops go out. The lazy day moves as people fold and unfold their body parts throughout the day in bed. The time must come, and you have to go back to being usual self where homes and families wait. It kills to go back but it’s a cycle where the series of events come to its point of origin. So, you say goodbye.

The weekend syndrome loses its color as new day advances, so you now wait for another one. And about the hangovers, most of them also drain off with the morning pee but some of it would last forever, perhaps.