(Fan)fare

(Fan)fare

Usually when we sit at the canteen table, relishing every bit and morsel of food to replenish our energy spent on our time and braincell-consuming work, we talk about the tremendous amount of fan mails we receive.

Often we mull about the tremendous amount of workload we’re allocated, but lunch time is always the time we let loose and relax a little, chit chatting about interesting (and difficult) cases. There’s nothing a chilling lunch session coupled with frequent jokes can’t solve. At the end of the day, our lunch time friends are our support group, no matter how terrible the day can be. And this, I cannot reiterate more, is so important in this department.

But today, everyone was a little quieter than usual.

Perhaps, it was the impending sense of gloom… or the inability to foresee what was to come in the future… or just the nature of the work that pulled us down, day in and day out.

So, while everyone poked at their food listlessly, he said, ‘Today is already Thursday… And tomorrow’s gonna be Friday! So you people should cheer up!’

She added wittily, ‘That’s so easy for you to say!’ And of course, all of us cracked up and went back to our usual jovial ways, as we chatted on our way back to our desks.

Are our lives going to be this way, always waiting for the weekends to descend upon us? Where we begin our Mondays with blues, trudge on with our Wednesdays in anticipation of the long-awaited weekends and thank the heavens for Fridays?

And Saturdays and Sundays go by, a little too fast, a little too forgettable. While you sit there, with a pint of beer in your hand, trying to unwind a little from the nitty gritty details of thoughts that haunt you through the week, you realize that it’s actually Monday tomorrow.

And the above cycle viciously repeats.

After a while, you do stop looking forward and hoping for the beautiful weekends. You just embrace Mondays with enthusiasm, telling yourself that it’s a brand new start to the week and the past horrible week has ended, period.

And as you step into your little prison, you remind yourself that whatever doesn’t kill makes you stronger. You make your way to the open air corridor, the balcony that overlooks the breathtaking array of models. You don’t know why but you just heave a long sigh, look dreamily out into the horizon and inhale deeply from the thinly rolled paper wedged between your fingers.

And of course, smoke gets in your eyes.