by The Subtle Art of Surviving Sundays
A Sunday Whisper | Reflection 2
ٱلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ ٱللّٰهِ وَبَرَكَاتُهُ
Good morning my fellow wanderer of the week. I hope this message finds you upright, caffeinated, mildly amused, and radiating good health, happiness, and low cholesterol. May your worries be few, your laughter unfiltered, and your slippers always exactly where you left them. May today be kind to your joints, generous to your mood, and stingy with bad news. And above all, may your soul stay moisturised because as life taught me in Class 7 during a tragic soap-related incident in the school bathroom, dryness begins in the heart.
Let me take you back. It was a humid Tuesday, the kind that makes school uniforms cling like bad decisions. My friend Itresh, God rest his coordination, was attempting what he proudly called his fast-walking-with-attitude near the handwashing station. In his right hand, a suspiciously slimy bar of Lifebuoy. In his left, destiny.
Long story short, he slipped, performed a ballet spin no one asked for, yelled Aaaaah like an old Bollywood heroine, and dragged me down with him. I, the tragic side character, lost my lunch in the scuffle homemade bhindi with paratha. That bhindi never stood a chance.
Moral of the story
In trying to save someone else’s balance, you often lose your own bhindi
And that, my friends, was my first sulfate free shampoo sample from the universe.
This Sunday, the 20th of July 2025, began not with the sound of alarms or roosters but with the gentle rustle of a thought too shy to speak aloud. A thought that had been soaking all week in the back of my mind like rainwater in a forgotten teacup, still, reflective, and quietly gathering meaning.
It is a strange blessing, Sunday
A day that doesn’t walk with the urgency of Monday nor hum with the exhaustion of Friday. It floats. Like the last lazy leaf of a season that refuses to be rushed. And on this floating day, I find myself thinking of all the things we forget to do
To pause
To feel
To sip instead of scroll
To whisper back at the silence instead of filling it.
You see, I’ve been sending out these daily reflections, like little shampoo samples for the soul. A sachet of stillness tucked into your digital morning, unsolicited, unbranded, but hopefully soothing. And someone replied yesterday with a line that made me laugh out loud and think even louder.
But I love these free shampoo samples every morning hehe
And in that line, nestled between the laugh and the lightness, was something oddly profound
Why do we treat peace like a product?
Why must reflection be a luxury?
When did it become normal to sprint? through life with a tangled mind, hoping a weekend can wash it all away
No, peace isn’t a product. It isn’t a scented bottle on a bathroom shelf. It’s what you feel when you read slowly. When you let a sentence sit on your heart like dew on a rose petal. And that’s why I write. Not to impress. Not to instruct. But simply to offer a towel to the soul. To say, here. Dry off. You’ve been soaking in too much noise.
So if you’ve received these tiny sachets of reflection from me this week, don’t just open them, apply them. Let them lather up the worry in your heart. Let them rinse away the chaos from your chest. Let them nourish the ends of your thoughts, so that when Monday comes, you’re not just ready, you’re rooted.
And if this reflection reached you too late, don’t worry. Stillness doesn’t expire
Apply as needed
With warmth, wonder, and a mild floral fragrance of sincerity
Mani
Sunday, 20th July 2025
🧴 Reflect. Rinse. Repeat.