This place has a different color each day. On some days, it’s mysteriously beautiful and on others it opens its arms to you.
It was on one such untangled morning that I was blissfully sipping my morning luke warm water, looking at my garden, which was now blooming with sun orange roses, and thinking of how life had transformed here.
Everything is uncluttered here, people mostly. No one’s rushing anywhere. They breathe easy and live blissfully. Everyone has time for everybody.
I generally wake up to the morning prayers of the gurudwara everyday at dawn (Of course, I go back to sleep soon after). That half an hour is sacrosanct; birds come to knock at our glass windows, the dog wags his tail outside, and the husband, ignorant of everything, snores. It’s a strange combination and the optimist that I am, I try to find rhythm in it.
On some days it feels nice to be living away from the crowd, having the time to see the sun set from water tank platform (while my legs hang loose and a slipper accidentally slips off to fall on the terrace), having the time to wonder what lies few kilometers ahead in another country, having the time to look at the mountains and wonder if someone there is looking back at you and thinking the same thing.
My rusty pea brain has been doing a lot of thinking here. It’s good in a way, it doesn’t give me a stuck-in-the-rut sort of a feeling, in fact, in a lot of ways it’s liberating. On most days, I cringe about not being able to get my favorite pizza, or the Mango jacket, or my banana shampoo; but there are days when all of these feel absolutely unworthy.
I might not be getting the best pizza but I get the best chicken on firewood, I might not get the exquisite jacket but I get the warmth of my people, and for the shampoo, I just have to travel an hour with lots of people to the nearest mall.