Mornings in Ahmedabad

I wake up to the sounds of my landlady admonishing her children, for crimes probably more heinous than those imaginable.

With eyes shut, I try to calculate the approximate distance between them and the angles this furious triumvirate must form.

It varies on a regular basis, depending upon factors such as the level of anger, the quanitifictaion as to how heidous they seem to each other and so on.


This is followed by a bath in a  cramped washroom where one can witness the glorious remains of all the habitants. The lack of a flush is more than conspicous.


Leaving the house is like leaving another planet altogether, for the moment I step outside, I finally breathe in air, let alone the fact that it is supposedly fresh.


Earlier my mornings used to be greeted with the happily wagging tail of the excited dog who resides on the building’s staircase. Unfortunately having met with an accident, he is the one who now awaits my happily nodding head (I wish I had a tail to cheer him up though).


I have to walk for hardly five minutes, I exchange smiles with the hopeful AutoRickshaw wallahs, most of them having given me some advice or the other on different occasions. They seem to be really concerned about their customer’s well being and leave no stone unturned in warning against possible mishaps (drugs and alcohol being the most favorite topics of discussion, I wonder why, ahem!)


What really makes my day though is the face of an elderly lady who sits on her charpoy playing with her grandson. She inevitably nods and  looks at me, beaming as if she has no worries, whereas behind her is the exhibition of life’s disparities and harshness in the tiny settlement with minimal resources to survive. Many a times I have this impulse to speak to her, go close to her and once when I was missing home, I felt like hugging her. Her warmth is like the need to see sunshine and it rejuvinates me despite the odd beginnings for the day.


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