I have to tell you – there is something magical about an afternoon nap. I hear the father quipping in the background – “It took you this long to listen to the wisdom that your father has been doling out through the ages?”
The father swears by it, and regularly catches his snores after lunch (even when he worked full-time). He was a teacher who was in charge of the timetable. All he had to do, was to make sure that he had the first period after lunch off, so the rice and the dals could settle down before the buttery biscuits came down with tea. I am convinced of it, if we could read newspapers after lunch, you’d find half of the corporate world gently snoring. But this information age, and the pace of life and all that has taken its toll. One of the finest traditions of life (I meant to say mankind, but who can deny seeing the lions laze in the African heat isn’t peaceful, so, life it is!) to go has been the afternoon nap.
The Saturday dawned wet and rainy. The mind half hoped to not go for the trek up the mountain in the rain. How many people would go for a long hike in the rain and sub-zero temperatures? Those, who see the beacon of hope in the afternoon nap – that’s who! I am sure I could move mountains and shift oceans if I could look forward to the kind of nap I had that day.
The hike had me hungry. My stomach felt like a woman’s handbag. The true capacity of which can only be measured by actually filling things in it. I stuffed myself at an eat all you can salad place (it’s-healthy-coz-its-salad being the general argument), and I groggily made my way home. I felt like a heavily inebriated elephant, which brings me neatly to the question that has been burning in my mind.
We have laws against drunken driving, but nothing to prevent an over-eating sloth behind the wheel. I can assure you heavy eating slows response times. Shouldn’t they have these weighing machines to weigh your food intake and tick you off if you’ve eaten too much?
Anyway, I got home, and the daughter and I slept. Oh….the waves of over-powering sleep. Who was that great guy who called sleep nature’s sweet restorer, or something like that? Call him, and give him a medal! The sleep just poured out of my every pore, and engulfed me in its welcoming arms. It conquered me. The distant sound of traffic faded, and the hum of the heater sang its lullaby in my ear. I woke sometime later, and flopped back for an encore. I wasn’t putting up much of a struggle, because I needn’t have bothered.
I remember having sleeping period in school, when I was about a knee high. (when I was around as high as my current knee is now I mean) The funny thing being, I spent all those precious afternoons whispering and chattering with a girl named Shiny and god-knows-who about worms and wet squishes. Perfect rot, bring me that time, and I’ll show you how I can surpass myself now. That afternoon bears testimony to the fact that I have it in me.