Butterflies and Hurricanes

This morning, I woke up just before daybreak. I keep forgetting how sanguine early mornings can be. Mostly because I never get to experience them. Correction: I shamelessly sleep through them and wake up at noon half-dazed and fighting off the remnants of anxiety-ridden nightmares.

This morning, I woke up to the sound of peacocks squawking in the distance. They’ve been unusually boisterous for the past few weeks. Theirs is a pleasant cackle, one that makes me incredibly nostalgic. I’ve grown up listening to peacocks, I’ve spotted them around our compound, I’ve chased them in the park next to our house, I’ve collected their feathers and turned them into wall ornaments. I didn’t realise their sound is so unique to home until I moved out. You don’t get to hear them anywhere else. At least, not the places I’ve lived in.

This morning, I walked outside and felt the chill enwrap me. It’s such a pleasant March morning. It isn’t too hot, nor is it cold. I eavesdropped on the animated conversations of the koels, the mynahs, the parrots, the pigeons and the scores of birds that sound wondrously loud and exuberant when the rest of the world is still in the throes of their slumber.

This morning, I realised how much I love Shabana Azmi and discovered that she’s also been a singer. I fell in love with one of her songs. I stared at the trees outside and watched them turn a bright shade of green as sunlight swaddled them in a warm embrace. I watch the ripe old leaves fall off the branches languorously. I watched a tiny butterfly perch herself on an inconspicuous little leaf.

This morning, I finished writing a poem in Hindi. It made me feel a certain type of way. It was a good feeling. It was a tingly feeling. I also felt a renewed enthusiasm towards Urdu poetry – Kaifi Azmi, Faiz Ahmad Faiz, Gulzar, Javed Akhtar, Sara Shagufta. Such rich, textured emotions, such wonderfully measured text. The words sound so crisp, so sophisticated, dripping with richness and history and feeling. I felt fresh and inspired.

This morning, I also felt a little lost. Maybe a little adrift. Like a leaf that’s been plucked off a branch by the wind and is now floating like a feather (in a beautiful world? Sorry, couldn’t resist.) I also told myself that it’s alright to feel that way. Life has this incredible ability to start making sense as it unfolds. And if it doesn’t begin to make sense, it’s always good to throw caution to the wind and just make a choice. Just decide to start moving in a certain direction. Sometimes that’s all it takes.