<p class="bodytext">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 <br />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 <br />few prayers.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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 <span class="italic">darshini </span>(eatery), along with the smell of frying vadas. Many walkers wind up there. I am afraid I have <br />to add the smell of the garbage to the list as well.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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 <span class="italic">a la darshini</span>: just a small amount, piping hot. </p>.<p class="bodytext">Occasionally, it is also a good time <br />to call my daughter and her family, <br />halfway across the world. It is still yesterday for them. I tell them that I live in their future.</p>
<p class="bodytext">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 <br />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 <br />few prayers.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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 <span class="italic">darshini </span>(eatery), along with the smell of frying vadas. Many walkers wind up there. I am afraid I have <br />to add the smell of the garbage to the list as well.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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 <span class="italic">a la darshini</span>: just a small amount, piping hot. </p>.<p class="bodytext">Occasionally, it is also a good time <br />to call my daughter and her family, <br />halfway across the world. It is still yesterday for them. I tell them that I live in their future.</p>
