Weekends mean different things to different people. To me, they generally are endless repetitions of mundane chores. Wash clothes and hang them dry,  sweep and mop up the place, clean the sink, kitchen table, the loo, if it needs to be cleaned, shave if in the mood to appear presentable, shower, eat, click desperately at the TV remote, hoping that something interesting might happen to be on air and to finally give up realizing once again that nothing on TV is ever to your liking when you want entertainment, watch a movie that I’ve already watched a gazillion times, on the PC, play computer games till I get bored silly, curl up with a novel….ah, in short, nothing ever seems to happen on weekends.

It was to kill boredom and get some fresh air that I went up to the terrace of my building and I caught sight of several kites flying high in the sky. Oh yes, it was quite windy and the kids in the neighborhood were busy flying kites. It brought back memories of my childhood, watching my cousins flying their home made kites, memories of my helping my cousins grind glass to a fine powder which is essential for the preparation of kite thread, called manja in local parlance.  The glass powder was essential for both defensive and offensive purposes, for kite flying was not just a quaint pastime, but also a fiercely competitive sport.  The minute a kite graced the sky, other kids who wished to compete would get their own kites into the sky and despite the skies being so vast, a battle for air supremacy would break out in earnest and my cousins were very sportive, despite being ferociously competitive. They believed in the no firststrike policy, I guess.  They never threatened the kites of others, but were more than happy to oblige if anybody was foolish enough to engage their kite in a fight.  The duration of the fight itself would depend on the skill of their opponents, but it rarely ever lasted long.  Not once did I see my cousins lose but I suspect that what I admired more was the fact that despite being so skilled, they never, ever, bullied other kite flyers. I stayed on the terrace for quite a long time.  The kites disappeared as the skies darkened ominously. I could see brilliant bolts of lightning  arcing across the skies with increasing frequency.  I counted the seconds between the lightning flash and the rumble of thunder.  It was still distant but closing in, all the time.  I tried to snap a picture of a lightning bolt, but though I was able to sight several wonderful bolts, I didn’t manage to get any of them on camera. The rain drops, big and heavy, started pelting me and I reluctantly went back indoors, back to my weekend monotony.Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.