Joy to the world, Sunday’s here! After two years of Saturday grumbling, City Cribs will now be part of your Sunday morning breakfast. A grumble with your dosa, sir? A crib with your sausages, ma’am? Or a never-ending complaint served with your eggs, sunny side up?
For those of you confused, City Cribs will hence forth feature on Sundays. Depending on which side of a hangover you’re on, Sunday can be the start or the end of a hectic week. For most people, the day of rest is less about resting and more about doing the rest of the things that couldn’t be done during the week — like sleeping, shopping, reading, taking your dog to Lodhi Garden, spending time with family or washing your underwear.
A friend of mine has been planning to go to the Sunday book bazaar in Daryaganj for the past six years, but when push comes to shove, books take a backseat to sleep. I’m sure that’s the case with most of you. Sunday = Sleep. Except for those of you who have to buy vegetables, stock up on groceries and clean the house; my condolences.
To me, Sunday feels like a fresh start (once I wake up, of course). I clean my cupboard, make optimistic lists about everything I can achieve in the coming weeks and swear to go on a diet. By Tuesday afternoon, I am looking forward to the following Sunday again... but that’s a different story.
For now, it’s time to crib. This week, the Capital’s eve-teasers, metro crooks and even the scorching heat takes a back seat to the only fitting crib of the hour — why don’t Sundays ever last long enough?