Sunday Morning Calls

The water from the overhead tank is pretty hot even at the start of day. Friendly breeze during the night have not succeded in cooling it. As floods of warm water from the tap touches my face I can feel it. The burning sensation tells me the potency of solar energy. It’s not that I have not realised this earlier. I always make sure I store ample water in the buckets to cool it down. The room attendant unaware of such precautionary measures had exhausted them while going about her chores a little while ago. In my fury I almost cursed her. I held my tongue in time. It dawned on me it was human err, not manifest intention. Illiterate and deprived, such nitty-gritty would have been the last thing on her mind.
As the first few mugs of warm water flowed over my body I nonetheless began to feel fresh. The music on the radio played slowly in the distance. I realize it was Sunday morning. I also realize I didn’t get a call from home. I also make note of the fact that this has been the way for sometime now. The thought transports me to life few years backdated. Those were the days of waiting for the proverbial “light at the end of the tunnel”. Both at home and elsewhere, things were not rosy. There were smiles occasionally; they were followed by quietness.

Sunday morning was a long wait. Someone from home would call me up; Mom, most of the time. Only she had the guts to present things in black and white. It was usually not a leisure call. More so, if it falls in the beginning of the month. The foremost topic being the support from home. The message would either cheer me up or teach me to be more patient. I acknowledged the difficulties and absorbed the adverses for the bulk of such instances. I also remember the times when I had to just talk back at Mom out of frustration. But despite everything, I cannot remember Mom crying once.
There were also Sunday mornings of different sort. Those mornings when the phone was dead silent. Time was due but the calls were not forthcoming. The silence was in a way more unbearable. Even when the need could not be met, the “ventillation therapy” helped. I also remember Brother calling up sometimes which became more frequent later. I recall how I could make out from his voice and tone it was ‘positive’ or ‘negative’ before he began to speak. He speak less so the cue was important. If the Sunday morning went well, the weekdays were productive and peaceful. If not, there arose lot of distractions and required extra effort to concentrate on studies at hand.
Everybody wanted to help. Almost everybody was helpless. We consoled one another trying not to hurt ourselves in the process. There was compromise in our use of words. I was asked to study hard but told politely Civil Services was only a dream. I agreed to take other exams as well but gave my heart and soul to the Civil Services Examination. In the end, it seems I didn’t break my vows. I kept my words. From the precincts of the Parliament Of India to the National Academy Of Direct Taxes. The journey has been a humbling experience. God has been so good even as He seem so unrelenting to many prayers. There are lesser Sunday morning calls now. Even if there are, they are not the same anymore. Going through my reminiscence I wiped the last trace of moist from my body. I came out of the bathroom humbled. All for a Sunday morning bath.