The sound of morning: Drawing inspiration from nature to refresh the senses

When I jolt awake each morning, I realize it is a little early to rise, as my senses try in vain to connect to life outside. Mostly, my mind becomes busy munching one thought after another, as I toss in bed, inviting sleep, to conquer me for a little while more.  

   

As I try to resume my nap, a rooster would crow from one of the pens in the locality. Shortly thereafter would come cock-a-doodle-dos at varied frequencies from the entire neighbourhood, jogging my memory of popular movie songs in which women hum from the paddy fields. The crackling noise of bandicoots running on withered leaves and squirrels leaping on tin rooftops would provide the background music for the chorus song of the roosters for quite a while. A street dog would rap in between, only to hijack the orchestra along with its kindred, both from the streets and kennels. 

      In the silence that follows after the bow-wow wanes, the whirs and chirps of cicadas and crickets would fill the morning air. The rustling of leaves in the morning breeze would add a romantic touch to the courtship of the bush insects. A bee would tap on my windowpane, as though inviting me to join the dawn chorus. Sometimes, a nut or frond from a coconut tree would fall down with an unexpected thud and put my heart out of rhythm for a few seconds. Occasionally, an attention-starved kitten would alter the modulation of the insects’ song by adding a touch of delightful melody. A shuddering container lorry or a screaming ambulance on the potholed road would come as a pitch shift to the singing, completely ruling out my possibility of resuming sleep.

      Soon the nearby road becomes busy with honking vehicles. The headlights of moving vehicles, which caress the snoozing garden plants, make a labyrinth of dark curves on the windowpane that change in tune with the speed of the vehicles. My eyes would feast on the spectacular show for a while to shed away sleepiness. Then comes from the mango tree outside my window the cawing of morning crows, awaiting the first sunrays to warm them up before exploring the backyards for their morning nourishment.  

      And then the chanting of the Suprabhatam from the temple sanctifies the morning air, at which my soul wakes up and fills my mind with an unexplainable joy. I would close my eyes and plunge into the ocean of sanctity and thank the almighty for allowing me to see yet another day. A little later, the chanting of Allahu Akbar from the nearby masjid joins the Suprabhatam. Not long after the two chants join hands, the church bells peal out, taking my soul to a confluence of divinity. The medley, in spite of the diversity in tone, rhythm, and melody of the three constituents, would sound like heaven in my ears. Missing any of the three constituents of the medley would give an incomplete feeling, like seeing an artwork missing a finishing touch.

      On opening the window, I would see the moon cheering me up from the horizon. Joining hands with the morning chorus, the cool air, sanctified by the moon and carrying a cocktail of aromas from the woods and the garden plants, freshens up my senses. My mind overflows with joy and thankfulness while being reminded of the tasks to be accomplished during the day.

      In the twilight, when the paperboy shows up at the gate, I welcome him with a good morning. Wishing me a good day, the sweaty youth goes with a smile, pedalling his bicycle and whistling an old movie tune.