The Day After Diwali

I was dreading the day after Diwali even on the day before Diwali. As luck would have it, Diwali, this year, fell on a Sunday. My kind employers decided on not giving any extra leaves and announced the Monday after Diwali as a working day. I was cribbing and pulling my chest hair in an attempt to overshadow the pain I was feeling because of this working Monday. I went into extreme depression. In protest, I decided to celebrate a wet Diwali. I played with water balloons, pichkri, gulaal, and grease. I’m sorry but I was depressed.

Thanks to my hectic work schedule, Diwali was a solemn affair this time ‘round and it was surprisingly quite awesome. There was no drinking, no gambling, no pimping. That is only to say that I did not get shit-faced, I did not bet my dog in a round of poker neither did I sell myself on the streets for some more money. I remember this Diwali for a change. I actually spent quality time with my family. I even met with my better half’s family and ate all the kheer at their place.

Let’s get to the day after Diwali. I woke up fresh and active like it was the first day in heaven and I was to be greeted by a line of 100 angels who would do anything on my command. I was not hungover, is what I mean. As soon as I realised it was a Monday and I had to go to work, I retreated into my shell again and felt like I was being molested by a cactus. It hurt.

I somehow managed to get out of bed and got ready to go to work. As soon as I hit the main road, I was pleasantly surprised. The roads were empty. It was like there had been a zombie plague and more than half the people were dead. Somehow everything turned to sepia mode just like those old pictures from the British Era. I could picture horse carts around me and pretty British women speaking in their ugly accents and dogs and Indians waiting outside restaurants. This life was good. I anyway always stand outside only when I go to Hauz Khas Village on a Saturday. So, not much has changed.

The drive to work which usually takes over 50 minutes every day, took a little less than 25 minutes on the day after Diwali. It was so smooth I almost came in my pants. Work was kind as well since most of the clients were on leave. I left before 7 PM for the first time in the last 6 years and this time I did cum as soon as I stepped out of the office. It was worth dirtying my pants this time.

Even in the evening, the roads were empty, people were hardly to be seen, autos couldn’t scam too many people, buses couldn’t kill too many people, there was no background music comprised of honking while I drove back home from work. While I was driving with my head outside the window and my tongue hanging out, I felt a tear drop down my eye, a tear of immense happiness as I came once again in my pants.

This was the life I had always dreamt of. A life where my Twitter TL is not filled with crap jokes being Retweeted a thousand times, a life where Indian stand up comics don’t act like pussies if you take their case for a change, a life where the population is directly divided by 4, a life where a man cums in pants thrice a day and people still don’t stare.

The day after Diwali was beautiful. I am glad I had to work that day. Or else I would’ve gotten drunk, gambled all night long, put up my dog as the big blind, put myself up as a bet while I went ‘all in’, and woken up in a sewer with a hangover.

Between Chhoti Diwali and Badi Diwali, we all grew up.