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Humour by Rehana Munir: The morning after
Is the inevitable price we pay for festive frenzy, nights of partying and other excesses we indulge in in life
The morning after Holi – and by that I mean, Holi done right – is in a category of one. The frenzied fun of the previous day triggers an equal and opposite reaction. Fuzzy memories and stained palms conspire to guilt you out – what was it that you said after the second glass of potent thandai but before the platter of never-ending gujiyas? Was that the thunderous laughter of friends or the ire of the gods descending upon you? Holi can effortlessly dislodge you from the safety of regular life, leaving you at the mercy of a devious DJ. The boisterousness of the festival and the sheer uncertainty of the pandemic world are a potent mix. Hydrate.
19th century recklessness
The morning after a heady night is one of those inescapable realities that we’ve all trained ourselves not to talk about. The Walk of Shame, for example. We’re all familiar with that gnawing sense of existential heaviness when we’re walking away from a person, or a place, it would have made sense to never have gotten entangled with. You imagine yourself as one of those poor, alienated souls in an unforgiving Hemingway story. In reality, you’re nothing more than a poorly etched character in a tacky soap. (The Bold and the Beautiful and Santa Barbara were my adolescent textbooks for this kind of character study.)
But simply leaving the person or place physically is never enough. The morning after lasts longer than just the next morning. Far longer, if the person you escaped was a tattoo artist and the place, their studio. “I can resist anything except temptation” wrote the irresistible Oscar Wilde. I wonder what he felt about this reckless openness to possibility the next morning. Luckily for him, the Internet hadn’t yet been invented in the late 19th century. Saved him plenty of ill-advised FB posts featuring opium-infused parlour banter, and lace and leather propelled right swipes on Tinder.
Tyson on drums
The Hangover (2009-13) series seems to have covered all the worst-case scenarios when it comes to debauched nights. But real life has the ability to surprise you with its casual terrors, no less horrifying than Mike Tyson air-drumming in your hotel room. Like that Friday night after a week from hell when you decide to convert all the potential energy of your online shopping wishlists to the kinetic energy of checked-out carts. It seems like the best time to finally commit to the sequinned Marilyn Monroe gym tote bag, Minion-shaped ice cube trays, complete works of Rupi Kaur, Ecuadorian chocolate bunnies and shoe rack in sheesham wood. As the brown paper packages start arriving the next morning, you’re forced to confront your many alter egos that are just one vulnerable night away from self-expression.
Buyers’ remorse is that inextricable part of late capitalism that bolsters my hopes in a revolution. A world where hand-me-downs reign, nobody cares if it’s a stiletto or blocks season in foot fashion, and where you can actually ask for a coffee at a cafe without being barraged by a litany of choices ranging from turmeric to tomato. (Just wait. It’s inevitable.)
The sadistic joys of exercise
I am now part of that insufferable tribe of humans for whom the phrase ‘morning after’ evokes the after-effects of physical exercise. An aching hamstring, sore lower back or stiff neck are all proud emblems of miles run, swum or cycled. Smugness abounds. ‘How do you know if someone’s vegan? They’ll tell you’ – goes the joke. The same can be said about the zealots who spend hours improving their fitness form and numbers. You wake up feeling like you want to have a lie-in, but you prise yourself out of bed instead – that’s the sadistic joy of the active life. And then you gloat on WhatsApp and Insta, glowing through the sweat; panting yet laughing; high on adrenaline, feelingly stupidly invincible.
Thankfully, some things get better the next morning with no effort involved. Like a hurriedly applied mehendi between wedding cocktails that takes a night to come into its own. Or a refrigerated dum biryani, whose flavours brazenly seep into the rice when no one’s looking. The full impact of a loving message received at a groggy hour. But for now, it’s the morning after Holi. So hydrate!
Follow @rehana_munir on Twitter and Instagram
From HT Brunch, March 28, 2021
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