It is a cool December Saturday morning. As a Mumbaikar, I cannot possibly talk of huge verandah spaces or freezing cold temperatures. A cool zephyr rustles past us—a cosy combination of warmth and chill, dubbed ‘Gulabi Thandi’ (rosy winter) by us locals. Thanks to my father’s foresight, we have large french windows installed to let in sunlight. I smell fresh coffee brewing as Amma in the kitchen perfects her frothy blend.
Dried leaves crackle for my dearest furry-friend Elsa wages a war with them stomping them under her paws. What a transition! I wonder. We have finally made it past the Tommys, Motis, and Sherus to naming dogs after Disney princesses. I whistle as she pauses her torment of the dried foliage and wags knowingly. I laugh as she resumes ever so quickly!
Papa devours the newspaper, occasionally voicing his political opinion, looking up from a particularly twisted news article. He does mince his words in fact, hurls the choicest of them, making me chuckle. Morning coffee seems to silence our unruly debate momentarily, invigorating our taste buds. Aajji’s faint hymn now fills the air. I unknowingly begin to hum with and follow her. She trots between the refrigerator and the kitchen, retrieving her repository of fresh flowers, tulsi, and bel patra leaves. I marvel at her sense of discipline even at the age of 83 years, making a mental note to be more disciplined.
It is that time of the year when we are putting pending assignments to a close. For one has to joyously welcome the new year. Some of us are busy jotting down our New Year resolutions, determined to shed those extra kilos after all! Newspapers are teeming with ‘End-of-Season’ sales, slashing prices by half. Bakers, party planners, clubs, and grocery store owners have rolled up their sleeves to not be swept away by the wave of orders rushing past. The city readies itself for a busy two weeks of festivities, events, and awards! Distanced from the buzz of the city, I am nestled here on a cosy Saturday morning gorging on Amma’s crispy dosas and freshly-ground chutney. I can call it a ‘my-kinda’ celebration. For me, it certainly beats the end-of-the-year revelry!