Every morning Gran rises before dawn. She readies herself for the impending day – beginning with the chanting of the prayers loudly. With her back stooped and slow walk - she goes around the house, handling the small stuff in her reach. By the time, we wake up, she has already said her prayers and washed her clothes, and had her early morning breakfast. Then she plans her short trip to the temple. Almost every morning. She goes out, as I say, on a date with the almighty. Almost every morning. Sometimes ,the weather and sometimes the troubles that come with the age come in between and disrupt the pilgrimage. That and sometimes the monkeys.
Yeah! The monkeys – the army of Lord Hanuman – that sits on guard at almost every parapet of the locality – in search of food and survival. They look menacing and they act menacingly. They are averse to flowers blooming in the gardens and clothes drying on the lines. They are averse to birds making merry and they are averse to kids eating fruits. Why the other day, they snatched away my share of melons and sat there eating it greedily – enough to drive me crazy. And dare not mess with their members or kids – the army will have its revenge.
I hear my Gran tapping the stick loudly against the metal rails of the balcony. The army is spread – invading the houses and blocking her path. I look out – the loud bang has dispersed them slightly – at least the smaller ones have run away. She repeats the banging again and again – till they have all hid themselves from the ominous stick. But this fear is temporary. Oh! It will not be long before the trouble is back.
Should I call it “A happy start to the day”?