One would think that, by now, we would have established some kind of mature, mutually respectful relationship. My alarm clock and I, that is. Like two elderly neighbours nodding politely over the hedge, you know. But no, every day, the same battle resumes, where my electronic device rings shrilly into my ear, with the enthusiasm of a toddler blowing into a toy flute, and I respond with the grunt of an irritated panda, who is being forcibly and unwillingly awakened from hibernation.
Early risers find this baffling, of course, because they leap out of bed at dawn – limbs limber, minds clearer, souls soulful – chirping like sparrows. Waking up early is easy, they say, with the bright confidence of people who have never known the joy of a late-night snack at 2.17am. These are the same individuals who believe sunrise is a spectacle worth viewing voluntarily, whereas I think daybreak is a phenomenon one witnesses only while catching a cheap flight at an unearthly hour, from a third world destination.
Late risers, though, share an unspoken bond, like members of a secret society whose meetings are never scheduled before noon. We have our own rituals: muting alarms with practiced precision, promising ourselves we will sleep earlier and being personally offended by anyone who calls before ten in the morning. We believe that daylight is best observed from a safe distance, preferably through half-closed eyelids and behind a cup of reheated coffee.
Early risers will tell us that they have already meditated, exercised, journaled, planned their week, and alphabetised their spice racks by the time the rest of us locate our slippers. They honestly believe that all productivity begins before breakfast. Night owls, on the other hand, produce their best work at hours when even ghosts have gone to bed. The former type insist that the world belongs to those who wake up early while the latter group quietly notes that the same world also belongs to those who can function past 10pm.
In this dichotomy, one thing is clear that these two tribes cannot understand one another – at all! And yet society stubbornly glorifies early risers because they are held up as paragons of discipline and virtue. The early bird catches the worm, they say. But why is no one asking the worm how it feels about being caught? Besides, the late bird arrives when all the drama is over and the buffet has been replenished, isn’t it?
Nevertheless, the real comedy begins when these two species cohabit. It is then that the household becomes a free-for-all war zone as one member wakes up cheerfully at dawn, ready to discuss life goals, while the other wears sunglasses indoors, communicating only in monosyllables. But eventually, with a little give and take, the two sides learn to cooperate and by lunchtime, both are civilised humans again – one fading, the other finally hitting peak energy.
“After years of trying, will I ever wake up at 8 a.m. without wrestling my alarm clock?” I ask our daughter recently.
“Very unlikely” she mumbles.
I look at her in dismay.
“However, you have made your peace with it” she offers.
“How?” I ask.
“You might not run life on schedule” she tells me.
“But?” I wait for her words of wisdom.
“You make life incredibly interesting” she observes.
Read Nickunj Malik’s last article: Ghee shots
