Morning. It makes its presence known with the dull light slanting in through the slit where one curtain ends and the next begins. There’s a brief cacophony of alarm bells ringing at our bedsides, and we lazily hit snooze time and again. Finally, when I rise, it’s the best time of the day. I am alive and about within minutes of waking. None of that need-to-surface stuff for me. I am ready to hug the day, right from the word go, in a giant, tight embrace. It’s what they call being a “morning person”, which is not to say I am an early riser. I’m not. I actually like sleeping in, lazing around, and all attempts to begin the day slightly ahead of time have failed repeatedly. But when the night’s sleep has been good, I wake up awake, as opposed to needing time to roll out of bed, open my eyes, crank my brain to begin functioning and face the day.
I’m the weirdo that wakes up alive. Nothing like going through the actions on auto pilot, watching the bulbuls flit about on the creeper outside the window, as I take in the smells that signal morning is here — steaming chai bubbling away, the zesty lemon of kitchen detergent, and the remnants of raat-rani that linger outside my front door, when I go out to fetch the milk.
I like the slow-starts more than the frantic ones. It’s like gazing out lovingly at the day spread out in front of me, my mind slowly dissecting the many things I need do. Weighing-in on work, assignments, meetings, coffee dates, workout routines — the many things I tick off on any given day.
Hugging my mug of tea, sitting beside VC, the coffee-table bearing the weight of our coordinated outstretched legs, as we read the news, in silence, I’m usually the one asking VC to slow down and stay a while longer instead of rushing off to work. There’s something about that peaceful, ease of just staying in the company of one another, with everything around us still and quiet.
Perhaps it has everything to do with being a bit of a Type A, I like to have things sorted and in control from the moment go. Before I begin my work on any given day, I spend some time clearing up the house — picking up odds and ends, tucking a bed-sheet in here, straightening a pile of books there. Setting my kitchen up clears out my head, and puts me in the state of mind to figure out meals for the day. When I skip these few minutes of peering into my veggie tray, cooking is a scattered and slightly imperfect process.
Breakfast is my me-time. Whether I’m cooking up a hot nashta, or whipping up cereal and fruit, or chucking it all into the blender to make a smoothie, this is my time to check in on feedly, read a little, and think about what I want to get done.
Belly full, mind gathered and the basics around the home are sorted, I rush off to the gym, and its onwards and upwards from there. The tempo of the morning usually sets the tone for the day to come. The days I do not get my morning dose of sweat and endorphins, I drag my feet and feel lethargic. The way my morning unfolds is usually a clue for how the rest of the day will go. When I am recovering from a late night and wake up half way into the day, I know my day is not going to perk up. And nothing, not even several cups of tea or coffee, a power nap or anything can shake me out of that state of lethargy. The days I efficiently and effortlessly wade through my tasks, find myself at noon with most of the work for the day done, I know it’s going to be a fabulous day.
Morning around these parts is probably the biggest, most significant evidence of what a homebody I’ve become, and how much I’ve grown to love it. A decade ago, I wasted no time in waking up, rushing into the shower and heading out. Being out = being busy. I’d have never imagined this 180 degree reversal.
I thrive on tending to my home, in fussing over the meal, in planning out my assignments and working around everything I have to do at home. And all of this happens in the morning. It’s really the best time of day for me, when I am at my productive best. As the day leans towards noon, things slow down, laziness creeping back into my bones. Come rain or shine, nothing wakes me up and readies me for the morning ahead, quite like morning itself.