The morning wakes up,
Stretching and yawning
The sun sneaks in to my room,
Caressing my face with its uncomfortably warm hands,
Disturbing my sleep,
Dragging me out of slumber
The gentle breeze pushes the heavy linen curtains
To get in to the room,
And ask me, patting gingerly on my back,
To open my eyes
Faraway the loudspeakers sing Bhajans
The birds on the trees in the backyard start the morning ragas
In my house, a velvet like voice rises,
Melodious like best of the ragas
The holy words from the holy book
Wrapped in my Grandma’s voice
It fills the ambience with tranquillity,
A strange kind of serenity
Pervades my soul
I enjoy the moments of bliss,
Keeping my eyes closed,
Body motionless
The aroma of Arhar dal pervades my room
As the cooker whistles in the kitchen
Again and again
I return to my senses.
The sound of loudspeakers
The twittering of birds
The gusts of wind
The warmth and glow of Sun
Everything is there
But no voice rises from the Grand ma’s room.
