First, a disclaimer to all Twilight fans. No I will NOT be thanking God for the Twilight series.
Second, a disclaimer to my parents, brother, husband and in-laws who might be reading this post. I know that you all would probably roll your eyes heavenwards and burst out laughing if I say that I am going to write about dawn. But please bear with me.
As I have said before I love my beauty sleep and am no early-riser. The warm bed, the cozy blankets, the soft pillow - all hold me in their loving trance and I have to try mighty hard to untangle myself from their comforting embraces. In fact, many times, I have felt relieved that I didn't have a Hindu wedding. As many Tamil Hindu weddings take place really early in the morning, surely I would have fallen asleep while the mangalsutra is being tied ;-) Usually my mood is pretty sour if I am woken up early-which is hardly ever and then too only upon force under dire circumstances. But maybe, it is precisely because of the fact that I experience the breaking of dawn so rarely, that I also appreciate the inherent beauty of it.
I believe that living in glass enclosed spaces in high-rises cuts one off from the changes that happen ever so subtly during the break of a new day. After all sitting in an air-conditioned room with the curtains closed – who can say what time of day it is without looking at the clock? One can perhaps, hope to catch a glimpse of a new day if you are blessed with a balcony or private terrace or simply lean out of the windows. But if I close my eyes and think about breaking dawn, here are some of the associated things that pop into my mind’s eye.
A sense of the whole earth being slowly nudged awake by a cool, refreshing breeze, not yet warmed up by the Sun and not yet sullied by grimy exhaust fumes. The Sun itself, creeping stealthily above the horizon, sending out testy feeler-rays in advance, to check if indeed all is well. The skies transforming from an inky blue-black to deep oranges and golden yellows, couching the promise of a colourful day in dreamy, wispy clouds. Wise crows, cawing raucously and going about their business intently, bent on proving to everyone that early birds do indeed catch the worms. The mystical and melodious “ko-kooo!” of the koel hidden in the gently rustling leaves of the neighbourhood trees. Squirrels squeaking loudly, friskily jumping about and bounding off helter-skelter with their bushy tails held up disdainfully. The “krrr krrr!” of stick-brooms sweeping away debris at every doorstep, followed by quick, short “chalap chalap!” of water being splashed about accompanied by the intoxicating smell of damp earth.
A pressure cooker whistling merrily in the distance, signaling to a busy mom getting her child frantically ready for school, that the
idlis are done for breakfast. The “triiingg triiingg!” of the newspaper delivery boy’s cycle bell as he goes around hurtling newspapers like deadly hand grenades. The gruff “kaaaiii mmmmaaa kaaaiiiii!” of the vegetable vendor who comes visiting with her basket of fresh vegetables balanced precariously on her head and a voice grown coarse over years of such shouting. The "tink tink tinkling" of prayer bells shaking vigorously by a devotee, as if he is trying to awaken God himself, afraid that his prayers might fall on sleeping ears. The aroma of fresh brewed filter coffee. Straining your ears involuntarily to listen to that faint sound of a song playing in someone’s house or in the nearby tea shop, which then proceeds to lodge adamantly in your brain, repeating itself over and over in a never-ending loop.
And then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, everything vanishes. School buses come rudely blowing their horns and stepping on the accelerators, people rush off hurriedly to their respective jobs, the Sun blazes down from a clear blue sky so angrily that even the few gentle clouds have been scared away, the air grows increasingly humid, heavy and hot, squeezing out tiny drops of perspiration on your forehead, the newspapers whose folds where not disturbed even by grenade-throwing actions, now lie sadly in a crumpled and soiled heap, the idlis and coffee are long gone with only dirty tumblers and plates with remnants of tiny, white idli crumbs and chutney smears remaining to prove that they ever existed in the first place.
As if by magic. As if it was all only an illusion created by an evil temptress to trick you into believing that for a moment there you were in Paradise, when in reality you were just another mere mortal, placed on this earth for purposes yet unknown.
But fret not. Because no matter how improbable it may seem, somehow, somewhere, there will always be a fresh start, a new beginning. There will always be a new dawn that reaches out and touches you and simply speaks to your soul, in a language that has no words; filling you with hope, reinforcing your beliefs and reassuring you of the goodness and greatness of God. In Scarlett O'Hara's words, "Tomorrow is another day".
Thank God for every new dawn!
Okay, now let me go and brush my teeth.
Image Courtesy: Dreamstime.
