Representative image of Bengaluru's weather.
I wake up early, and I think it is the most wonderful part of the day. Yesterday’s worries seem distant, safely behind me; the air—and my mind—are fresh and ready for today. It feels
wonderful to stretch one’s legs and walk— not much, just about 4.5 km. It is also a good time to dwell on one’s thoughts, to introspect, and to say a
few prayers.
I love observing the people who are walking, jogging and running. Various services have sprung up to cater to them. Green leafy vegetables are sold to early walkers; this has now developed into a small morning market that disperses by 9.30 am. A young man sells containers of assorted vegetable juices. I don’t know their merits, but many people patronise him. Banners announce yoga and meditation classes. Nearby, several people stretch and then go “ha, ha, ha!” in unison: the Laughter Club is in full swing.
I love hearing the common birds. The “trooo-trooo” call of the barbet, the shrieking of parakeets, the mewling cry of black kites—and, of course, the cawing of the ever-present crows. Now, because of the heaped garbage, there are two silent hunters as well: the shikra and the barn owl, which, in the dawn light, swoop in noiseless flight on rodents in the trash.
The smells are a great part of the walk too. Flowers for sale give off a lovely scent, as do the fallen blossoms of the Akasha Mallige (Indian cork tree). The aroma of fresh coffee wafts from the local darshini (eatery), along with the smell of frying vadas. Many walkers wind up there. I am afraid I have
to add the smell of the garbage to the list as well.
People meet and greet one another —or walk past, intent on their exercise. Walking inside the park is tightly regulated, even down to the direction one must follow, so I prefer the road outside. The tall trees come alive with bird chatter. I enjoy watching the change of security guards at the IT companies.
The weather in Bengaluru is very conducive to walking, and early mornings nowadays reveal a sea of mufflers, monkey caps, sweaters and scarves. Since I perspire a lot, I usually avoid all of these.
While I have been ruminating, I find myself back at my front gate. Off I go, climbing up to my fourth-floor flat, to enjoy old movie songs on TV, read my newspaper (guess which one!) and sip my first hot thimbleful of coffee. I have learnt to have it a la darshini: just a small amount, piping hot.
Occasionally, it is also a good time
to call my daughter and her family,
halfway across the world. It is still yesterday for them. I tell them that I live in their future.