It was a fairly new park for walking around . A large footpath , that zig zagged , in and out of line of vision , following no particular pattern , and forcing enthusiasts to some time , jump onto the mud path , when they found some rotund competitor , as me , blocking their path .
The edge of the park lines the residential quarters . One man comes onto a balcony , and worships the tulsi , drenching the poor miserable plant , in a high deluge , chanting all the while .
A couple jogs past , slowly , whispering about prices of "mooli". Another jogger crosses my path twice , she does the round anti clockwise . Me clockwise . A pair of power walkers , race with me , giggling and nudging when they overtake , giving me snide looks . A lone retiree , claps his hands together , every tenth step or so , and chants loudly,"hare ram , hare murari ".
His breath , as he crosses me , is predictably , alcoholic. His clothes crumpled , and he is not into walking actually . He just woke up too soon , the horizon is just about pink-red.
From a gurudwara , the early morning prayers waft up , on the cold morning air . Like a balm to frozen ears.
An ayappa temple has come to life too , and a fragrant lamp of diyas light up the insides of the age old temple , blackened with holy soot. People are moving around barefoot and somewhere , in the residential complex , MS Subbalaxmi comes to life with her trademark "militant -sounding" tava suprabhatam.
An old man stretches on the dewy grass. His wife watches from a bench , mildly apprehensive .
That is something endearing and precious about our country .The integration and simple acceptance of all .
The edge of the park lines the residential quarters . One man comes onto a balcony , and worships the tulsi , drenching the poor miserable plant , in a high deluge , chanting all the while .
A couple jogs past , slowly , whispering about prices of "mooli". Another jogger crosses my path twice , she does the round anti clockwise . Me clockwise . A pair of power walkers , race with me , giggling and nudging when they overtake , giving me snide looks . A lone retiree , claps his hands together , every tenth step or so , and chants loudly,"hare ram , hare murari ".
His breath , as he crosses me , is predictably , alcoholic. His clothes crumpled , and he is not into walking actually . He just woke up too soon , the horizon is just about pink-red.
From a gurudwara , the early morning prayers waft up , on the cold morning air . Like a balm to frozen ears.
An ayappa temple has come to life too , and a fragrant lamp of diyas light up the insides of the age old temple , blackened with holy soot. People are moving around barefoot and somewhere , in the residential complex , MS Subbalaxmi comes to life with her trademark "militant -sounding" tava suprabhatam.
An old man stretches on the dewy grass. His wife watches from a bench , mildly apprehensive .
That is something endearing and precious about our country .The integration and simple acceptance of all .
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