Wellness, fullness, stillness

Today I am sated. I ate a big dinner with soft, white rice covered with spicy daal. There was bhindi cut up in small pieces and fried. It was deliciously red and crusty with salt and chilli powder. I finished off the meal with large spoonfuls of yogurt that was so white and creamy that it seemed whipped with sky and foam.

I was full of memories of my Delhi trip last week. I stayed in a little hotel in Daryaganj. Our room was on the terrace where I waited eagerly for my little square of sunlight to visit me every morning. I remember sipping black tea at a friend's place. It had peach fairy lights strung around a mirror.

I remember rose-tinted sunsets that suffuse the Jama Masjid with so much splendor that the goats there look like bards in Baghdad. They may easily have even been them. I saw one that had a white and black turban coiled on its head and draped in yellow and crimson carpets.

I think of the slow smile that always spreads across my face when I think of Delhi. When I think of the idea of Delhi. Of the India Gate standing tall and proud but the Kashmiri Gate standing broken but noble. I think of Delhi where the breeze is ancient; where it carried the first cadence from a sitar and left it on the velvet cushion of some unworthy royal. I think of Delhi where evenings seem ageless and eternal. I figure all of my life is simply an awakening to greet such an eternity at dusk.

I remember the drive back home  from a rather long day at work. I parked the car and just then, an old song came up on the radio. I recognized the song three seconds later than I remembered the person who made it so unforgettable. Some fellow outside British Council Library humming it. He'd have a coconut in his hands and an easy smile. Always.

So I switched off the engine and sat in the dark. I hummed along as that long forgotten innocence got serenaded.

Yes. Today, I am full.