The elixirs of a morning...

My mother was one of those people, who always woke up well before the crack of dawn. Every day, her alarm would be set for 3:50, and she would be out of bed by 4:00 AM. She needed this much of time for all the tasks ahead....boiling the milk, for all the coffees and teas that would follow later, cooking the oats for her and Pops' breakfast, cooking lunch from scratch, with just the vegetables being chopped the night before, and sometimes, not even that; packing our breakfast and keeping a little snack handy. By the time I walked into the kitchen at about 6:00 AM, all this would be done, and only box-ing the food remained, which would be my share of the work. Oh! And she would have also had a shower by this time, walked in to the bedroom, numerous times, first to wake up Pops and then us, and the lamp lighted, and the morning prayers done. And when I walked into the kitchen, she would hand me my tea and rush off to wash her face and brush her teeth once more. Then in under a space of 15 minutes, while Pops went down to warm up the car, she would hurriedly comb her hair, put it into a neat little bun, even more hurriedly don the saree I had picked out for her and the blouse I had ironed, all the while letting off the steam, about how after doing EVERTHING else, she had so little time to get ready for work. It really drove her mad, those rushed 15 minutes. Because we HAD to be out the door by 6:45, else we would get stuck in the hopeless traffic enroute to school which was a good 45 minutes away. My father who had warmed up the car by then, would be looking impatiently at his watch and pressing the buzzer below. peeep peeep peeep....it would sound insistently, aggravating her mood even more. I would hang around nervously, feeling sympathetic to her cause and also resentful of the words of frustration she often directed at me. I knew they were empty words....spoken just to work down her irritation, but it wasn't pleasant. As I folded the pleats of her saree in neat little folds, waiting for her to pin it up in place, I would be simmering inside, vowing that I would never be like this when I grew up.

Little did I know that I would turn out to be like her in more ways than one. I too love waking up before the crack of dawn. There is so much to get done with those extra few hours. A cup of tea to be savoured in this amazing quiet peace that can never be had at any other point of the day, with the mind still fresh, this sunrise to catch, as the first rays of light peek through the horizon, lightening up the room; the song of the birds to listen to, in their merry little chatter, as they get busy for their day; mails to check in the most luxurious of moods, when there is no other claim on your time; and if the mood is right, a little bit of yoga to stretch the limbs and gear up for a day of activity; and oh yeah....all the cooking and the packing too. :)

On the nights I have dutifully gone to bed by 8:30 PM with the boys, the sound of the alarm at 4:15 is a welcome one. I spring out of bed like I have a secret rendezvous to keep. So much about the early morning is beautiful and visually stimulating. The soft glow of the lamp after I have lit it, and switched off the passage lights, so that there is only that natural light marking each step on the stairs as I walk down carefully; the wonderful silence that is soo... intimate, punctuated only by the singsong of a bird, the little beep beep tone of the alarm system, as I disarm, so I can open the patio door in peace, that first cool morning breeze that blows across my face as I open the door; the green garden chair holding a little pool of water from yesterday's rains, flower petals strewn across the moist wood floor of the deck...everything, adds a sort of enchantment to the scene of the morning and the feel of the morning. And I savour it, for in under an hour, the quiet will be a forgotten elixir, soon replaced with a mind full of tasks and a hand flying at work.

The door upstairs will creak open, and R's footsteps will be heard, as he gently pads to the altar for that first morning prayer. Soon, little feet will thud slowly down the stairs and a sleepy little face will peep quietly at me from behind the wall, with a request for paal. And the form I would have really liked to have seen up and about, will be found reclining, deeply in slumber, harder to awaken, than even Kumbhakarna himself! Several trips will ensue up and down the stairs, as I lay out the clothes to be worn, iron the creases out of little pants, wash a little bum, while training a ear and a nose to the sounds and smells from the kitchen, making sure nothing gets burnt, and the steam is let off on time for the rice to get cooked. By the time I am satisfactorily done, its close to 7:40 and I have less than 20 minutes to get myself ready and presentable for work. The heart beats wildly, breaths sometimes coming in pants, a sort of feverish heat replacing the quiet of my mind earlier, as I consciously try to slow down and breathe a little deeply, a sigh escaping my mouth ever so often...the words, I am tired...being repeated in a steady litany within myself.

These are the times I often remember my mother, thankful that I don't need to wear a saree. These are the times when I understand most about the little sacrifices she made to make the running of our family a little more smooth. These are the times, I really empathise with 15 hurried minutes of dressing, after the early start to the morning, and the work filled hours that followed. Though of course, in my case, the beginning chunk of the morning was spent in absorbing the sensory delights of the birth of a new day, and it is something that I will never give up. And I think, in a way, she would have her stolen moments to cherish too. Her very own first cup of coffee, the first... off of a batch of freshly boiled milk, the light breeze coming in through the balcony door which faced east and gave her a view of the sun rising up from the Persian Gulf everyday, the strains of ayigiri nandhini coming from her dusty old red tape recorder, soothing her soul, and the little snatches of time she took, as the food cooked on the stove, and she managed to catch a few minutes of her favorite cookery show recorded on timer from the day before, the 5 minute breaks as she played Solitaire on the computer.....all these would have been her little elixirs to thrive on...