There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who wake up on a Saturday morning with a sense of purpose, and those who wake up and wonder what that unfamiliar feeling is. That feeling, my dear reader, is called freedom.
It visits you once a week, looks around your confused face, and quietly sits in a corner waiting to see what you will do with it.
Saturday mornings begin with great ambition. You sit up in bed and announce to nobody in particular, “Today I will be productive.” This is usually followed by a deep, meaningful look at your phone, where you check messages, emails, news, and then for some reason videos of a cat who sings, “I love you mummy!”
Then it is almost noon, and your productivity has decided to take the day off.
Now Saturday is also the day when all the things you postponed during the week come marching back like unpaid bills. The cupboard door that refused to close on Monday suddenly demands attention. The leaking tap that politely dripped all week now decides to perform a musical solo. And somewhere in the house, a family member appears with a list. Not a small list. A list that looks like it was drafted by a committee with long term vision.
“Since you are free today,” they say with alarming cheerfulness, “we can finish all this.”
Free. That word again. It is amazing how your freedom is a shared resource in the household.
Then comes the great debate. Do you step out or stay in. If you step out, the roads are crowded with people who also had the same brilliant idea. If you stay in, you feel guilty because sunshine is happening outside without you. So you compromise by standing at the window, looking out at the Peepul tree thoughtfully, as if you are supervising it’s leaves to grow greener.
Lunch on Saturday is never simple. It becomes an event. The wife suggests trying something new. This usually results in food that arrives a bit late, so you stare at your empty plate, it stares at you, and both of you silently agree that expectations could be a bit high.
By evening, something magical happens. The same person who woke up determined to conquer the day now sits comfortably, saying, “Where did the time go?” Time, I suspect, spends Saturdays running away from us while laughing.
And yet, there is something beautiful about it. Saturday does not demand perfection. It does not ask for achievement. It simply offers a pause. A chance to breathe, to laugh at our own plans, and to realise that sometimes doing nothing is actually doing something very important.
Because in a world that keeps telling us to run, Saturday gently whispers, “Sit down, have another cup of tea, and for heaven’s sake, stop trying to fix that cupboard today”
So, if you haven’t done anything today, it’s because you don’t have to. It’s Saturday..!