Mornings at Six

Often when asked about our day we tend to recount all the setbacks and frustrations that it may have contained. This, though helping us take things off our chest, can sometimes blur those moments that may have been beautiful and worth remembering, till they begin to fade, and we can barely recollect their colours or textures.It's better to record these wonderful moments, however short or few, so they maintain their freshness.

It has been some months now since we moved to Pune, we have been here through the monsoon,the short warm autumn, the winter and now the emerging spring. Summer will complete the cycle for us. The weather for the most has been pleasant and enjoyable, even the rains brought their own pleasures.

The best part of the day though has been the time I wait with my daughter at dawn each day, for the school bus. Together we share the pleasures in each new sight and experience. There was the first sighting of the mongoose,as it ran out from one bush and into another, then as a pleasant surprise ran back into the first bush. There have been moments of wonder as we watched the bayas (weaver birds) build their nests in trees beside our apartment complex, and moments of sadness and loss when the entire area was bulldozed to make another building. There were times when the bus was late or we were early and had enough time to sit in the gazebo watch the crow pheasant strut in the bushes, or stand by the frangipani tree, breathing in its sweet fragrance. Sometimes the rain would catch us and we would shelter in one of the buildings and watch it fall, its drops rippling the puddles that formed at our feet. It was in the garden that my daughter first saw the red vented bulbuls and heard their song, or I saw a shikra on a wire in the field next door.

Later in October after my daughter would leave, I would walk down by the fields watching the sun rise through the morning mists, the birds flying in the reddening sky, and somewhere over the bridge near our house she would witness the same sunset over the river; a very special moment of her day. As we watched it, the sun would bind us closer. These were times of easy camarderie bonding us together with memories to be cherished always.

Then one day after my daughter came home there was a terrible sound. A few minutes later the bus driver called saying there had been an accident. The top of the bus had caught a corner of our building, as the driver had swerved to avoid, we never really knew what, and had been ripped off from one side. That was the end of our mornings in the beautiful garden. From that day the bus started picking her up from the gate.

Now our path changed direction completely and with it our surroundings. We had to go to the lane outside the complex, passing buildings in the first stages of construction and building materials; bricks and cement, spread out. As winter advanced and the nights grew longer, we had to go down when it was still dark. There wasn't any gate really and everything wore a rough, unkempt look. As we stood waiting for the bus, mosquitos would hover over our heads, many sucking our blood like insatiable gourmands. As the sky lightened, stray dogs would come to relieve themselves close to where we stood, if we were not careful an unguarded step could land right into it. To add to the woes, if the wind blew from the east it would carry the strong stench from the buffaloes at the dairy farm next door.

One would think that our times together in the begining of the day now brought only misery, but this was not true. Even now we enjoyed new sights and learnt many things. As we were going down in the dark, often we saw the moon in its various stages over the eucalyptus trees or sometimes as it was about to set it stood in glorious orange splendour.

There was a small vacant plot in front of our gate, sometime in October it had been encroached upon and first one hut and now three stood there. When we began waiting for the bus at the gate there was only one hut. As we stood there a young girl would wake up and begin her chores. First lighting a wood fire outside the tent like hut, she would then make chappatis for her family, while it was still dark. Her face in the dancing red firelight was a fascinating sight.

Sometimes the bus would be late and we would watch the early risers; maids hurrying to work, arms crossed in an effort to keep out the cold, giggling twosomes walking to school, old couples warmly wrapped, out for an energetic walk, enthusiastic joggers, people walking their dogs, which thankfully did not choose our feet to complete their days business, among others. We learnt that it was at 7:45 am precisely, that the candyfloss man cycled by each morning, his wares displyed in their pink prettiness in a basket on his handlebar.

One morning, quite by chance we looked up at a eucalyptus tree to find a number of cattle egrets roosting in its highest branches. There was another time when a bird, which could not quite be identified, perched on the bare branches of the tree opposite. A little later a crow came by and perched very close to it, the bird flew at the crow and the crow backed off for a moment but returned and came even closer, this went on for a few minutes till the bird could take it no more, and chased the crow right off the tree and over the opposite lane. For a while nothing happened, then the crow returned and proudly sat cawing from the branch the other bird had been on.

There have been many other delights enjoyed during our mornings; watching the cormorants flying in different formations till they come together in a straight line, or listening to a purple sunbird calling from a branch, hearing the many cries and songs of the birds in the trees and fields, finding another tree full of weaver birds' nests. Though it is short, it is a time we look forward to each day. The moments we spend together are precious and prove that it is not quantity but quality that truly matters.