Monday Blues

God knows I work, so many hours
I neeed a change of scene
I know some day
I will fight the power
To be a man of means

I hear the words pouring out of my husband's mouth every Sunday evening. The music is missing and lyrics not in sync. But the meaning always remains. At the beginning of spring, last year, I used to feel jealous of him every Sunday evening. 'Damn this H4'. But Beginning from April this year, I look forward to it. I get to stay alone. It's not serenity as my mom puts in. Yes, the birds are chirping outside my bedroom and computer is making wrrrrring sound; small bushes have risen up to my window like, as Rabindranath Tagore said, "like the yearning voice of the dumb earth", sunlight is seeping in through the dusky clouds, laughing as it lands on the mess in the room, still its not serenity. There is not a single human sound, well not for next one hour and then a vacuum will roar high and loud in the corridor. Till now I don't know who cleans it. I would like to tell him/her about the stain I left ten months ago, right in front of my door, as the detergent fell while I was carrying it to the washer dryer room. I haven't till now. Confession does a lot of good. May be it will help me too. But for that I will have to wait. Apart from that there is only jabbing of keyboard that is audible. It’s not serene either.

Like every Monday I plan to clean the house today. I hope it will bring me Monday Blues. Most of the times it doesn't. Well may be because till 4 I sit on the same couch, in the same position thinking hard. Sometimes my head hurts. But I don't stop. I think. I think a lot. I imagine all the answers to the 'W' questions. Sometimes time fly fast. Sometimes it just stays with me... stagnant.

What is the time now? I wonder.

Instead of looking at the clock ticking laboriously, I catch the sight of a bird sitting on the window. How much I hope to be that bird. The bird stares at me for a whole one moment as my thought finishes. What is it thinking? I look at her closely and I see cold water droplets falling of her. I open the window. It flies in. Its then I know that the bird hopes to be me. Glad, I look at time, while it whirls inside the room. Its 12:45.

I get up to clean house. Monday Blues. Hope. That's serene. And that's why from this year's spring on I have begun to look forward to it.