Daily I wake up in anticipation and rush out to catch the grand show of nature held every morning: the orchestra of the birds, the art exhibition of the rising sun with its glorious colours, the designs that the clouds weave on the horizon and the breathtaking extravaganza of the numerous blooms that,  through their colours, shapes and fragrances make the world an awesome place. I am privileged to live in the Cantonment part of my city and bless the army daily for the greenery that they have as a policy protect and rear, the large spaces that they maintain and the massive trees that they have protected from the unrelenting advance of the realtors’ axe.

While the nature sings and dances and paints for us, there are the inevitable encounters with humans, fellow morning walkers, that also liven our mornings. Whether morning or evening, men will be men where women are concerned. They need to attract attention and show off. This gentleman who was walking his dog saw me enter the narrow road (a single-lane pathway with lush creepers on both sides) and began to give orders to his pet. “Sit, sit,” he commanded. The dog obeyed perhaps wondering why he was being asked to sit when they had come out for a walk and morning ablution. “Say good morning, good morning,” he ordered again.

The dog sat on its haunches and obediently raised the front legs, his tongue hanging out in glee. “Good morning,” I greeted the dog, as obediently. I avoided that path for the next few days not wanting to inconvenience the dog.

On another day, as I was walking on the main road, another walker came from behind. I continued to walk at a brisk pace. The gentleman caught up, and began to walk alongside. I picked up speed and so did he. I did not relent. He could not ‘overtake.’

Both of us walked in silent competition and then the gentleman broke into a run, went ahead and then raising his hand, waved it in triumph. I could not protest at the ‘cheating’. Feminist fury spoiled the walk’s joy as I silently labelled him MCP.
The friendly strangers.

It is interesting that we can pick up the vibes from total strangers who remain no strangers as we encounter them daily. Two men were different from the Genghis Khan who defeated me in the walking race. These two ‘walking partners’ were regulars at the park that I walk in. We ‘know’ each other. One day as I was walking, they came in the opposite direction. The morning was more beautiful than usual as it had rained the previous night. As they came closer, one of them spoke. “Ma’am, that way is slippery. Be careful,” he said. I thanked him.

On our subsequent encounters we would nod at each other, in silent greeting. A few days later, on my way back home after the rounds in the park, it began to rain. And who should draw up alongside in a car but my two men walking-friends who offered to drop me home. I gladly accepted, silently blessing them in my heart.

I have discovered the joy of speaking to strangers and now that I have crossed 50 there is less danger of attracting unwanted male attention or my friendliness being misunderstood. I make it a point to be friendly with strangers since not only does it make them happy but it makes me happier seeing their surprise and happiness on being addressed or for sharing a thought. Invariably, one kind gesture is returned with more kindness.

For instance, I went to a bush in front of a house that had half open buds of my favourite flowers that reminded me of my childhood.

The ‘houselady’ looked at me curiously and I responded saying I loved the flowers for their fragrance. She reciprocated. “Shall I get some flowers for you? I have taken them inside for pooja. You can have some.” She made my day!

In another encounter, I noticed a woman feeding a street dog in front of her house and told her that she was being very kind. Yes, she said. But that chap won’t eat. He is waiting for me to go inside so that he can invite his girl friend out there to share the breakfast! What goodness I discovered in that short interaction! The lesson in sharing learnt from the dog and the good woman remains imprinted in my heart.

I have a weakness for the old. On a different route on my morning walks (the same route becomes boring), I come upon a very old man regularly. 
 
The other day I greeted the sardar by bowing my head to him. He stopped. Then with great effort, he put his palms together in a ‘namasthe’. I was thrilled. The next day I greeted him with folded hands. He stopped. And lifted his two hands slowly and blessed me!

The sheer joy, the feeling of gratitude that suffused my entire being is indescribable! Thank god for so much goodness in the world!