Just another weekday

It is just another weekday, drawing to a close. It was one of those lazy days at the office, involving nothing more demanding than a couple of conversations and a few emails.

I am on the train, which is only 70% full giving its passengers the option of spreading their limbs around. A rather manly lady sharing my seat is talking loudly on her cellphone. About half the people aboard, myself included are busy with some electronic toy or the other – cellphone, laptop, iPod, etc. A few are reading books/newspapers, and a minority is engaged in actual conversation. Some are simply looking out of the window, and others staring at the seat in front.

In half an hour, I will be home, to the noise of two kids, and complaints about their behavior. Their mum will be distraught about one of them, and deeply concerned about his (lack of) future. The same boy, who was a source of great joy when born and later as a toddler, is now a cause for stress. This, I suppose, is the norm in families with growing kids.

After a hearty dinner, the boys and I settle down to the routine bedtime reading session. A story about an alligator who cannot get himself to eat a duck he befriends, and for the older one, two chapters from Enid Blyton’s Secret Seven series. My eight year old son points out the word “awkward” in a sentence, and remarks that if someone had the name Dr Awkward, one could spell his name backwards. I nod my head impatiently, wanting to get on with the story. My heart soars. Someone with such perception cannot have a doomed future.

One of the boys nods off, and I say goodnight to the other and ease out of the room. It is quiet time – I check email, and settle down on a sofa with a glass of red wine. My thoughts drift back to the swimming lesson earlier in the day.

I manage the front glide, and the paddling all right. I actually feel I am getting somewhere with my aquatic skills. Then we attempt to do the back float. This is a disaster. My backside just sinks towards the floor, as thought it has weights attached. The natural tendency of my body in the water while attempting to face up is to form a V with my bum as the vertex, and floating horizontally is impossible. The sinking bum gradually drags down the rest of the body with it, and water gets into my nostrils. I flail my arms and somehow, struggling, get back to a standing position, with my feet on the floor. I doubt whether I will ever be able to do this. “You are too stiff”, my trainer tells me. “Make your arms floppy”. I try again, with similar results. My trainer decides this will take me a while, and saying “You are a sinker. Fill your lungs with as much air as you can”, moves on to the next person. I must lick this. Perhaps some practice over the weekend will help.

I down the last sip of wine, and make my way upstairs to bed.

As always, my eyes beat the alarm. I play my routine time guessing game. What will it be – 6:12 or 6:13, something tells me. I glance at the clock – 6:12 it is. I retain my horizontal position, cherishing those last three minutes before the beeping of the alarm. When it beeps, I shall rise, and walk into the bathroom and just another weekday.