ANOTHER MORNING, ANOTHER BEGINNING

In another four hours, I have an appointment with yet another morning. Every morning means a new beginning for me. None of my mornings have been bad ever. I am of the opinion that it is during early hours of mornings; we can nebulously feel the presence of GOD around us. Or should I say that I personally try to interpret God in the many things that surround me. 

We being in the middle of December, the temperatures are taking us on a roller-coaster ride. From chilling to freezing and at times leaving us numb, the winter is yet another lovely creation of God. The first thing (after getting free of the natural chores) I do is to slip my feet into my sports shoes. At the same time I enjoy the obsession of never climbing down the stairs normally. I make it a point to sprint downwards. Is it risky? Over a period of time, it has become my forte but I did have my share of great falls. After hitting ground zero, I unlock the main gate of our home. The white Zen Estilo vxi parked to the left of the gate belongs to us. I run my hand over its hood. All I get to feel is joy. The joy of feeling the wetness of dewdrops is so divine that I fall short of words to describe that moment of short lived pleasure. But any kind of pleasure at that moment of the day is God gifted.

In another four hours, I will see the same faces who will act as members of the beeline to the nearby school. These faces arrive as students, teachers, parents, escapists, learners, critics and authoritarians. The first bell shall go off and once again the Indian National Anthem penned by Rabindranath Tagore will be sung in tender voices. The echo of which will make me stop at the same place that I stop at, every morning. After the anthem is done and the prayers are over, I will begin with my brisk jogging. My feet will pace up and down the partly tarred, partly destroyed, partly controversial or partly scandalised road. I will start sweating. But like every day, I will not feel insecure about bouts of dehydration. I will start running, walking and jumping a bit to yet make a miserable attempt at shedding some kilos. These kilos are both precious and concerning. I regard these extra kilos precious because they have always stayed with me. I tag them concerning because the more I run, the more I ignore the intake of disorganized temptations, which continue to keep me in the same shape that I’ve remained in for the last many good months, days or years.

The same song will jump out of the music system. My personal favourite has been Rockstar’s Tum Ho or Barfi’s Phir Le Aaya Dil. Every morning I’ve followed the rule of playing the music system to not just listen to the music but keep my Sony Hi-Fi in good health. Too much of rest makes it grow lazy. As a result, the songs get stuck somewhere in the middle. The CDs start acting crazy. Early mornings are not meant for craziness. Mornings are meant for goodness. Face to face and toe to toe, it has to be goodness.

I will find myself sweating a bit. But I will not like to use the napkin dangling from somewhere in between my waist and something else that never goes waste. Another morning, another beginning awaits me; in a few hours from now.

Mornings, I love them. There is no politics involved in mornings. Aam Aadmi Party is not fighting against BJP and Congress (for once) is not staking a claim for giving Indians these mornings. During mornings, office never interrupts my thoughts. During mornings, the bitches (oops…will that represent some kind of sexual comment) are found asleep. When I talk about bitches, I am talking about the real bitches (definitely the four legged ones). They bark, they bite and they also chase cars at times. Mornings, I love them for the reason that there is no question of duplication of experiences. Every morning stands different from each other. And yet there is always a new beginning to be a part of.

Oh yes. Did I say? Mornings erase every possibility of thinking about the cribbers at workplaces who are good at fuelling inter-colleague rumour competitions. They are really good at it. But mornings make me forget such assholes. The only hole that bothers me is the pothole. No other holes come to my mind, when I am in the good company of not one particular morning but multiple mornings.

I have once again set the alarm to 6:15 am. But I can’t beat my mom. I never thought of competing with her ever. She is up before me, tending to the plants in our garden or plucking flowers to be offered to God. She comes back to tell me the lovely experiences she had with the flora and fauna around us. At the same time, I feel very happy to see my warmth filled love to experience every morning in a completely different way. All the sleep that is advised to normal human beings, she does full justice to it. I am not an insomniac. But I can never imitate or follow the healthy sleep schedule that she follows.

The same middle aged man will ask me to skip for him. The same kid will walk alongside his mother, followed by their two pet dogs to the school. The same teacher will smile at me for greeting her with a childlike gesture – Good Morning Teacher. The same school bus driver will inquire with me about the mileage of my car, the journeys I might have taken and whether I am getting our car serviced at regular intervals.

One packet of milk will be left back at my uncle’s place downstairs. The newspaper delivery boy will just throw the paper inside. The rolled piece of shared knowledge will both hit against a wall and land at the same place that it is found every morning. I will come back, give our car a second look and chase few more dogs with a piece of stone in my hand. I can’t tolerate dogs, which raise their legs to make any wheel of my car; their public toilet.

I will take the stairs up. Get rid of the sports shoes. I will walk in. I will pour myself a glassful of water. I will add to it my favourite glucose powder. I will walk back to the veranda. I will stare at the sun and wink.

I will begin the day and salute the morning. Because every morning is a new beginning to learn, survive and think of success. Here comes – Another Morning, Another Beginning.

-vociferous