Morning wonder and wanderings

An early morning constitutional, the feel of fresh air, the bursting of the azure dawn, the lighting up of the horizon, the sun rays gradually brightening up nature all around, it’s possibly the best time, making every moment of an outing worth the effort.

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The environment seems to be smiling after the kiss of night and true to those meaningful words of Amos Russel Wells: ‘Rise my soul, the benediction of the sky to meet; sound, colour, fragrance, freshness; mine whole, mine to receive and happily mine to give; a kingly day and kingly must I live.’

Visibility grows and navigating the pot-holed road becomes easier, the dew-laden greenery shows off its shiny side, then the reality of life dawns.

Majority of the town folks are well tucked in deep slumber, and so are our not-so-lucky fellow humans in their jhuggi-jhopris. Irrespective of the vagaries of weather, the latter are fast asleep, exhausted by the previous day’s hard labour, undisturbed by the blaring honking of the speeding highway traffic.

I pass by a family. Their home has a double mosquito net under a tree. One observes the jugaad to ensure their comfort; come rain and plastic sheets cover the net to keep them dry, replaced by a blanket as winter advances… life goes on.

Many others are awake, livelihood has to be earned and ragpickers lead the way. It looks like a race between those buried under their sacks, peddling carts and the ones with motorised cart. A pair generally operates a cart, one drives, the other runs along the road, picking up items which will earn them bucks. Is it enough to survive? No, most do a second job during the day, life is tough. They still seem happy and positive, I suppose, like what Shel Silverstein wrote, ‘Oh what do you do, poor Angus, when hunger makes you cry? I fix myself an omelette, sir, of fluffy clouds and sky! Oh, what you wear when the winds blow down the hills? I sew myself a warm cloak, sir, of hope and daffodils.’

Tea stalls are opening up too, smaller ones have the entire family at hand, the woman sweeps and young ones run errands to help start the sale. One passes by the bus stand, as commuters alight, they rush to the bushes to ease themselves, the municipal corporation has failed to even provide a toilet. There is, however, a bright spot, the ‘Sahil Tea Shop’, which has grown from a small kiosk to a favourite neighbourhood nukkad. Steaming cups of tea, coffee with rusks and puffs are dished out, newspaper to scan, a smoke for those not allowed at home, laughter reigns and tells us that, ‘When the world is at odds and the mind is all at sea, then cease the useless tedium and brew a cup of tea…’

I speed homewards, for my irresistible cup of coffee.