This is another of those moments in time, when I wish time would stop and let me soak in the colours on my palatte.
A vacation in two long years. All I wanted to do was go home, be at home and feel home. It's funny how all through childhood, all you want to do is get out of home to be on your own and all through adulthood, all you try to do is come back home.
As a gawky teenager,I remember the excitement of stepping out of the house on my own, to experience the world by myself. The freedom to make turns, stop and soak, run through the crossings, cycle faster than the car standing next to me. A rush, a hurry , to quench the thirst of knowing everything this world had to offer. A zest to rush into the next moment.
And here I am, a decade later, wishing time would stop this moment. There is the same sense of freedom, of doing everything I want to, of going places, learning new things and a desire to have more time in the day to do a lot more. Somehow the stop in time gives me a feel of being able to appreciate the existing moment a little longer and the ability to squeeze in a few more things. There go by certain times when there is a feel to do nothing but sit back and watch the sun travel from one window pane to the other pondering about all it's shining light on.
Back home was like being back home. Hot coffee, morning newspaper, the smell of burnt dried leaves in the distance mixed with the scent of damp earth of the neighbour's front yard, the sound of vessels clinking lightly in mom's kitchen, a light hum of a chant by grandma, her silhouette against the rising sun, the milkman hurriedly dropping the packets of milk, a dew drop sliding delicately along the edge of the leaf, a shy bud still deciding on whether to bloom or not, a withered flower wondering if it's fall to the earth would be gentle or not. The teapot on the table, mom with the Geeta, dad and me sharing the morning newspaper, a discussion over current affairs of the world that drifts to each other's current affairs and the day's plan. This has been home from the time I've known home.
I missed it. For the few years I've been out, mornings have been about rushing to go places, anxiety over finishing the day's task, so something may be achieved with in a stipulated time. It's about grabbing a cup of coffee, a measly loaf of bread, toasted hours ago, cold and rigid. It's about being able to catch the bus on time, so I don't have to walk that extra distance. In short it was about ending the day and getting back into bed.
I had forgotten to recognise the start of a new day, the hope that comes with sun rise, the opportunity and time to do more, to achieve more, to live more, the need to plan the day and enjoy it's different hours and moods. I had forgotten about looking forward to a day.
Being home reminded me of the essence of waking up every morning, with a desire to breathe in fully and feel the cool air set the rhythm of the heart, for the day.