Birds & Kettles
Early mornings are my favourite time of the day. Once I get past the initial hump of parting with my comforter, I’m as awake as I can be. I never feel groggy or disoriented. I wake up much like a jack in the box - cheerful, energetic and ready to punch. Starting the day with exercise is the best gift anyone can give themselves. I feel enlivened and invigorated. But my favourite part of every morning is when I simply do nothing. Once I’m done with my more physical pursuits (a life-long battle of trying to get back to ‘skinny me’), I sit on my yoga mat cross-legged. It reminds me of how little time we spend in contact with the floor. It sounds metaphorical, but being in contact with the ground really is a grounding experience. I stretch sideways, run my hand over cool marble, feel every muscle elongate. I close my eyes and simply breathe. And through it all, I am content - a feeling so alien to me that it always takes me by surprise.
Perhaps it is the silence of these mornings or the low light that tells me that even the sun is yet to get ready for the day. This morning has been no different. It started with grey skies and a deep silence. An hour into it, I witnessed things and people come to life. Somewhere a kettle blew a whistle. Voices appeared from a fog clearing out - a mother annoyed with her child already, monkeys fighting on my roof, a bird’s fluttering wings. And me - revelling in the sounds that through the day will go unnoticed while I frantically move from one meeting to another.
Starting the day feeling this sense of calmness is important to me. I’m not a person who is easily happy with herself. There’s always something I could have done better or more of. I start feeling a sense of unrest and self-loathing if I go two days in a row without exercise. I need to constantly feel like I am achieving something or getting things done. This space of solitude is when I reflect on such things. It’s when I disengage from all that I do and even all that I am. It’s when I look externally - at the world, in wonder. I feel joy at the thought of so much beauty around me, the little things that go beyond what consumerism has taught us. I am okay looking at a worn out house from my balcony, the mundane signs of its inhabitants manifesting in the drying clothes hung clumsily. The house need not be pretty, the ordinary lives of its ordinary inhabitants also bears beauty in that moment.
The sunlight soon comes streaming in and I’m reminded that I must soon start working. In that moment, adulting feels like a pain - the same hours everyday, day after day. The sun is luckier, I think. It rises later in the winters. But the sun and I are friends, I am always cheered by its arrival. This is when I put on some music for the soul and read a few pages. In these rituals, my heart is full with gratitude and joy.
I wonder how much time we gift ourselves everyday. I wonder if Netflix and phone calls have overtaken books and songs. Starting my day with optimism and calmness keeps me stable through the day. I see most people get up just in time to get things done. Over time, I’ve learnt that some people are simply not married to the circadian cycle. I’ve learnt that I am. I shall always be a proponent of early mornings and 8 hours of sleep. But I realize that it may not be effective for many. Whatever time one chooses, I am certain that adding a bit of time into that schedule to simply do nothing, to respect the body that houses our soul, the soul that is feeble without some fuel, makes a huge impact on how we feel through the day. My work day starts in 3 minutes from now. And I am ready for it.