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Spice of Life: Sounds of silence in cantonment morning
Savouring the first sip of tea, embracing the beauty of a new day, I prepare myself for the hustle and bustle of a fauji wife’s life, reminding myself that every morning is a fresh start and we should begin the day with a grateful heart.
The rooster crows at five in the morning, and I step out of the age-old military bed as it creaks, reminding me of the numerous preoccupants from whom it has passed on. As I rush to attend to nature’s call, my fur slippers flip-flop against the cold tile floor, the dribble of water from the tap, the creaking of the door, the swooshing of the towel handle, all break the silence of the morning. I open the cupboard, cautiously, lest I wake my husband a minute and half earlier for his morning physical training, to pick up my joggers, but the door disappoints me yet again, with its constant and monotonous cascade, a loud cry of its weariness.
Amid the sheet of thin white fog; Jai Hinds, Namaste and good morning salutations I make my way to the park, where children are accompanied by mothers, who already look tired and weary. The wailing and crying of toddlers overpower the swooshing of the swings, knocking of the adamant woodpecker reluctant to give up, thumping of an approaching company of jawans, the honking of the military supply truck and the mellifluous tunes from the nearby speaker.
The morning breeze gushes and I pull my cardigan closer while making way to the inner circle of the park, where I’m greeted by the chirping of the sparrows and warbling of the parakeets, as the first rays of the sun strike the dew-covered tuberose and marigolds, the fragrant air inviting the buzzing bees. From the farther corner, I can hear the giggles and laughter of elderly parents practising laughter therapy, reminding me to strike a few yoga poses before heading back home.
The chatter of children boarding their army school bus, fighting for the perfect window seat before bidding adieu to their fathers in uniform while reminding them what to get them in the evening, adds to the cacophony of the morning hours as I make my way home.
I settle for the cookie from the noisy tin box, while my ginger honey lemon tea is in the making. The whistling of my beloved handed down teapot is triumphed over by the buzzing of the doorbell by the milkman, and the babel of domestic helps and conservancy staff as they make their way to their respective quarters.
Savouring the first sip of tea, embracing the beauty of a new day, I prepare myself for the hustle and bustle of a fauji wife’s life, reminding myself that every morning is a fresh start and we should begin the day with a grateful heart.
The writer is a Hoshiarpur-based freelance contributor and can be reached at bagga.aastha23@gmail.com.