A sky full of clouds, swaying trees, singing koels and squawking peacocks make the morning fresh and fragrant with even the leaf trying to say something.
Morning Meanderings is a musings column by Dr Santosh Bakaya. Enjoy her jottings with a hot cup of tea. 🙂
Another morning, another new day, burst forth through my window, beckoning me into the fresh, bracing air, of a rain-drenched morn.
In small puddles created by last night’s rain, an egret and a lapwing gamboled merrily, while a hoard of cows plodded around like conflicting thoughts, now and then stopping mid-stride to cast half-an eye on the world going by.
And the world going by was studded with polythene bags of different colours, (some polythene bags with higher ambitions, had soared to greater heights and were adorning the topmost branches of trees), discarded footwear, broken bottles and empty cigarette packets.
The trucks rumbled on, on the road adjoining our house, and the clouds overhead also added a couple of rumbles to the morning cacophony.
Suddenly I shuddered, remembering last evening’s episode. As I headed towards the vegetable vendor outside our house, I glimpsed a skeletal cow looking balefully at me.
Then with slow, mincing steps, almost like an out-of-practice dancer, she stumbled towards me, and before I knew it, she was trying to viciously tug at the hundred rupee note in my hand which I was about to give the vegetable vendor. A tug of war ensued, and had it not been for the good offices of the vegetable vendor, the hundred rupee note would have lined the hungry cow’s stomach along with the polythene bags already lining it.
Up above, small grey clouds were hovering around a huge one, almost like fawning sycophants around some VIP. Uriah Heep-ish. Obsequious. A knot of joggers were involved in enthused gossip, while a White Browed Wagtail hopped from one pond to another, happy.
A tiny girl also splashed in a pond, her braids swinging; joyous hairy twins. The sky had been taken over by dark, clouds, big, small, massive and absolutely tiny. One humongous cloud with a Pinocchio nose had me riveted, but a surgeon, masquerading as a cloud, did a little rhinoplasty on the nose, and it now had a well chiselled nose, which also soon fell. Alas! Newer clouds reigned now; of different shapes.
The peacocks were squawking away and the frogs and tadpoles were matching their frantic steps with the breezily dancing clouds, bloated with promise. The sun peeped a little from behind the clouds, the rain pitter-pattered, and soon the contours of a rainbow appeared. Only to soon evanesce.
Suddenly a cute little verse (John B. Tabb?) flashed in memory, bringing a smile to my lips.
“O lady cloud, why are you weeping?” I said.
“Because,” she made answer, “my rain-beau is dead.”
Hidden in one of the Ashoka trees a feisty koel trilled away and some sparrows added their tiny notes to the koel’s song. A sparrow couple necked and kissed, and then kissed and necked a little more. The morning unfurling was a melodious song, untouched by the ominous cacophony of a world, enamoured of war, hatred, jealousy and ego tussles.
Another tree swayed endlessly as though driven by a mission, its leafy fingers, probably bent on removing the traces of violence which have scarred the world. One admonitory finger, nay a leaf, raised, as though in warning.
Make haste, before it is too late… Too late… too late…
If you have to kill, why not kill hatred?
Kill hatred and spread love – love – love…
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