Fridays. The actual start to the weekend, as opposed to the jumpstart that was Thursday evenings
Friday meant one thing. Church. Oh boy, I was not a fan, especially the getting ready part
The day would begin at 5:30 am when Amma would wake up and prepare tea for us. Being Christians, we don't have food before church. So the tea was the only thing keeping us up until Sunday School snacks (more on that soon!)
I was the non-grumbly type that took two calls from Amma (sitting in the hall) to wake up. Eyes shut, brushing my teeth away.
My brother was the one who extracted maximum effort from my parents to finally open his eyes. Amma would keep calling out his name, each call increasing in intensity and finally when she conceded defeat, Acha would enter the ring. My brother could really test our parents' patience hehe. Since Acha is the no-nonsense type with a soft liking to him, it would take some soft words to finally cajole him into waking up.
Around this time, the newspaper boy would drop Friday's edition of Gulf News at our doorstep with a soft thud.
Acha would sip tea with particular interest in the regional “what’s happening” sections of the paper. My favourites were the Friday Magazine and Tabloid. The classifieds paper also had a soft spot.
The sticky point for me was taking a bath before putting clothes on. Oh boy, Friday mornings and cold water. I hated taking baths before church (still do).
After a much debated bath, I would make my way to the dining table to read. The cold tea now reheated (I'm not a fan of reheated tea), flipping through the Sports section and sneaking a peek at Friday Magazine.
Friday Magazine deserves a whole section of it's own. It served as a flashy catalogue for pricey cutlery, apparel from renowned brands in Dubai and pictures of breathtaking models adorning them. The Astrology section had me hooked, with regional feature stories. Flipping through this magazine which was delivered only on Fridays was a core part of my Friday routine
Next up, we had to iron clothes. Kid me followed one policy to the dot. Amma dress edukkum, njan idum.
True to the word, I used to wear what Amma picked. I had a horrible streak where Acha insisted on us wearing matching clothes to church. Imagine the second-hand embarrassment among my friends at church!
Once the whole family was decked up, it was time to leave. The slow walk to the car park, in silence. The slow drive to the church, in silence. No music, just scenery and occasionally sneaking in a few winks of sleep. The views across Business Bay and Oud Metha looked beautiful in the morning sun.
The slow walk from the car park to the church would have me fretting around to see if I had my Sunday School books and pens. I used to see this bag only once a week.
Me and my brother would be in the front, just a few feet away from the altar where the qurbana happens. Imagine the crowd - drowsy kids just doing enough to stand upright, itching to find that one familiar face amongst the crowd and to sneak in some laughs and chatter on what they did during the week, including the best things that happened at school and during outings. Stern uncles around to give you the pinch if you were not a good boy. Boy I used to get pinched a lot!
We were segregated according to height.
Years later when I visited the church again, my heart just warmed to the fact that things stayed the same. The same uncles, aunties and friends, but a bit older. The same building, a bit aged and grander, and a whole lot of new faces!
Armed with a service book at hand, catching a few winks of sleep during scripture reading, sneaking peeks at the glass paintings overhead and the girls crowd with dainty clothes and scarves, it was soon time for Sunday School
This was my favourite part of the day.
After service, we knew where to head to.
The common space where generous benefactors would sponsor the day's snacks for kids, before they headed to Sunday School
You felt like a king after sipping Rawabi’s Lime-Kiwi juice and biting into an Al Jadeed Bakery chocolate croissant or sandwich. It’s safe to say Dubai church's kids were slightly spoilt.
My favourites after all these years are still Lime-Kiwi and Lime flavours. Those slap
Next up, we would head to the Sunday School hall. The building had seen its glory days, once holding around a thousand noisy kids. Leena chechi would start with action songs. Babukutty sir would belt out announcements in his stern voice, followed by his "Thank You, Thank You" song.
I’m smiling writing this out. Us kids would be smirking through the whole song, trying our best not to laugh while making our way through an improvised tune
Those songs have stayed with me after all these years.
After assembly, we would make our way to corners of the hall. Each class had a teacher and a maximum of 15 students. Friends that I’ve known from when I was little. I grew up with them, sharing laughs, having kochu kochu penakangal and a few memories being made along the way.
Our classes spanned for an hour, where teachers would explain stories from the textbook, ask us to read passages from our kutty Bibles and give doable homework to be presented in the next class.
Greeny mam, Remani mam, Jacob sir and Philip sir’s names come flooding back as I write this. Faces I haven’t seen in years, voices I can almost still hear, calling out our names and asking us to stay attentive.
We had Sunday School exams (half yearly and annual). While OP was not a prolific learner of the arts, he ensured that he got a full attendance award every year. Given as a consolation for kids who couldn’t get awards for topping 1st, 2nd or 3rd in their respective grades.
Well, a trophy is a trophy isn't it?
Kid me used to be happy getting one (aa kaneer thudachit para) 🥲.
My parents would be huddled outside the hall in their own circles. Families from our area back in Kerala, extended relatives and friends would chat away about nattuvarthamanam, finding out new relatives through extended family and catching up on their next trip to Kerala. Many would head to Lamcy Plaza for dosa and tea while waiting for us kids. The day would slowly make way to noon.
Once classes wound up, it was a matter of moments before the hall's main door exploded with kids running back to their parents with cheery faces, done with another fulfilling visit to church and the place of joy - Sunday School.
Not because of the scripture lessons they taught us. That counted, of course. But more than that, it was the friends we met, the interactions we had and the laughs we shared that made Friday mornings wonderful for us kids.
When I visited the church again after years, I kept wondering. The interlocked grounds that still felt familiar. The hall that once contained happy laughs and Bible lessons stood the same. The familiar faces of teachers - now a little older, but with the same beaming smiles. All of those memories came flooding back
That’s what lingered, long enough for me to tell you this story.
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