Mornings as they were.

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ 

The year was 2015. University had just started and I had to get used to waking up in the morning by myself. I remember how difficult the exercise of waking up on my own turned out to be. So my mother would wake me up nonetheless, calling me up at 6 am in the morning and jolting me out of my sleep. And then we would end up talking for a while, which always robbed me off of the luxury to wear my eye liner in the morning.

Pretty soon, I figured that it was more work this way than trying to do it on my own. If something can be done just right by one person, why bother another?

So evidently I had to get used to waking up on my own.

View from my room window.

Gradually I got used to waking up by myself, to this serene view outside my window. And I did it happily, day after day; also making sure that I woke my roommate up too. On my way to the mess, I’d greet people and marvel at how in the morning, people were a little more open; maybe because they had a whole day to sort out in front of them. It seemed as if people really knew you in the mornings, and there were no secrets. These were the times when the corny old phrases suddenly made sense.

So markedly, I almost never missed a class. Suddenly, mornings became the sole reason for my happiness. A chance to dress up and get ready for classes, a chance to reach the university early and meet my friends, a chance to drink Chai before the class begun, a chance to laugh and share scandalous stories of the night before, with my friends who did not stay at the hostel. It was all this and more. I loved mornings. Mornings were a start of something new. Mornings invigorated me. 

Mornings soon started holding a significant and tangible value in my life. Even under the afternoon sun, everything lay buoyantly still for me, like a summer scene from a Van Gogh painting. And hence, these mornings were extremely productive and valuable, if not the best.  Of course, some mornings I preferred to stay in bed. As it'd rain cats and dogs, I would pull up the covers and stay in bed a little while longer. 

I still remember when I marked mornings as if they were an occasion, a festival of some sorts. It was when I set my alarm clock to this song, 

Morning comes slow today,

Memories push through from yesterday.

It was also during the week when I was set to attend the Poets of the Fall concert. I was ecstatic. A week before flying to Bangalore, this song had become a huge part of my mornings. This song was picked on a whim, but it has given me a lot to remember. 

It's the little things,
Little things,
Little things,
That make the world.

Holds true, to this day, thanks to that time of my life.

Featured here. :)