By Ratna Manucha
Sunday began like any other monsoon-y Sunday. The sun was out in all its glory and by late afternoon, the clouds had overshadowed it and before one could gather up the clothes from the clothesline, the rain came down. In sheets. In buckets. The downpour was so severe that within minutes the ground was sodden and rivulets of muddy brown water were running crisscross all over the ground.
There I was enjoying the deluge from my window and absentmindedly scrolling Instagram, when something popped up. Apparently, today was special – a total lunar eclipse was to take place (different times for different countries), called the ‘Blood Moon’. So far so good. But what caught my eye was the ‘gyan’ that was being offered – Do’s and Don’ts during this period.
Seriously? Nooooo. Not today. We had called friends over for dinner at the club. It was to be a casual fun filled evening full of laughter and good cheer. Now what? Two of the Don’ts that caught my eye was that we must donate something to the needy and not to cook or eat food during this period. What was I supposed to do? Cancel? Or should I wait for the others to take the bull by the horns and cancel? In all innocence I had chosen Sunday because that really is the day of rest and contrary to Connie Francis’s popular ditty, ‘Never never on a Sunday’, I say ‘Why not on a Sunday…?’. Dinners with friends taste best on Sundays.
Not wanting to spoil my mood for the evening, I take a deep breath, pack a large goody bag and hope to donate it to someone needy after dinner gets over. We’ll see about the eating part later.
Surprise! Everyone turns up. Let’s get the party started. What to order? Drinks? After a lot of procrastinating – yes, no, maybe, what about you…some decide to play it safe and settle for a classic soup or nimboo soda (at least the fizz is there without the buzz) while the others with a devil may care attitude settle for…you get the gist. But deep down somewhere, the Blood Moon had got into my psyche. ‘Cause Instagram had also warned me not to pick up needles, knives or knitting needles. (Well, that stands to logic, ‘cause if we don’t pick up the knife how on earth are we going to cook? Unless of course we settle for Maggi instant noodles). My poor befuddled brain goes into overdrive. What if the club guys are thinking the same thing and we get Maggi noodles for dinner?
On a more serious note, Instagram, Facebook and Google ‘gyan’ has tied me up in knots. Just when I want to take a breather and begin to scroll idly, all kinds of Do’s and Don’ts pop up which put me in a tizzy. I don’t want to know that today is a special Thursday, and I must chant the following mantras which will benefit me. What was wrong with last Thursday? In fact, that was pretty special, as I connected with a long-lost friend. That benefitted me and got my happy hormones raging. Help! I didn’t sign up for this. Instagram was for some light-hearted moments, not to constantly tell me I’m doing things the wrong way – drinking water the wrong way, treating my children the wrong way, it even tells me I’m sleeping the wrong way if I sleep on my side and how to win an argument against my better – bitter half! Well, I could give Instagram a few tips on the last one!
A recent incident kept me on my toes for the better part of the week. An Instagram popup showed that a particular date the following week happened once in a lifetime and because this date carried the energy of completion, release and rebirth, I must light a ‘diya’ between 5 and 6 a.m. that particular morning. Rebirth? I’m not dead yet! There’s so much that I still need to do…and I don’t want to be reborn. But who’s listening? Definitely not my brain that these days is like Mary’s little lamb and follows Instagram everywhere. Apparently on that day, my words would become seeds and every intention, every prayer would multiply manifold.
What followed was a week of uneasy anticipation. Really? Will all my dreams come true by just waking up early one morning, lighting a ‘diya’ and chanting a few words? That I could do. Easy – Peasy. So, on the appointed day and time I wake up to the shrill ringing of the alarm (yup, you guessed right, I set the alarm!) lit the diya, stood outside in my verandah and spoke one wish with clarity as instructed. Also, I released one old pattern that no longer served me. No, I’m not telling you what it was. Take a guess. I released it into the atmosphere and off it went, carried away breezily by the wind and I snuggled back in bed, secure in the knowledge that I would wake up at 8 a.m. to a new me.
Well, guess what. I’m still the same old me – wrinkles, undereye bags and sags all intact.
But I digress. Back to the dinner. Before the guests were halfway through the dessert, I began chewing my nails in despair. Being good friends, they understood and got up to leave soon enough.
Uff. So much work and so little time. Donate! Donate! Now! But it is late and the streets are empty and my goody bag and I are at a loss. What calamity is going to come my way within the next 24 hours? The remaining night is spent tossing and turning in bed, with intermittent peeps at the Blood Moon (as I had forgotten that we were not supposed to look at it…don’t ask why), waiting for evil to befall me…
Meanwhile, an alert pops up on my phone to tell me that I have used my phone one hour more than last week. It’s no wonder. After Instagram told me not to keep my water bottle by my bedside at night as that would be unlucky – so I now keep it on my writing table and when I am thirsty at night I have to switch on my bedside lamp just in case I trip while walking to the water (now, that would really be bad luck) and by the time I’m done drinking water and walking back to my bed I’m awake as an owl and then begins some scrolling and thereby hangs a tale…
(Ratna Manucha is an academician, poet, columnist and author of fact and fiction. She lives, dreams and writes in Dehradun, her happy place.)
