Mornings

We generally worry a lot going into the night. But mornings - they are fascinating. They start as if there was no yesterday. They sweetly muscle into your life from behind sunny curtains. They absorb you on your terrace. A happy, little girl with two piggy tails bouncing on her way to the kindergarten (and the piggy tails flip-flopping on and off to the sides of her shoulder); a mid-age couple trying to outpace each other on their regular walk; a bird chirping like a raucous girlfriend of past; the lazy clank of kitchen utensils emanating from the flat next door; the eager water rushing out of taps after a full night's wait; the sky, ah, the sky, in a fresh navy blue shirt with a patchwork of bird-patterns as if on a Caribbean holiday - mornings are like the bioscope shows of the never too distant childhood. And once you choose to withdraw from the terrace - there is this rich aroma of the freshly brewed tea. You have been drinking it all your life but like a happy marriage, the romance starts anew, every morning. Mornings are like magicians - after you think the show is over, they still have a trick left. You switch on the music and a fresh whiff of breeze enters through your window - the ecstasy of being hit by Pt. Ajay Pohankar and that fresh gust of wind together!

Mornings are beautiful. Especially those after the month-ends. Especially when you have green tea to sip and "Gilahari ke joothe matar" to soak yourself in. Especially when there is music and poetry and an unfinished book open on the table. Especially when you are alive!