A MORNING SCENE IN MY TOWN
The soul of William Wordsworth experiences bliss when he looks at London from the West minister Bridge. His lips brimming with joy move in the appreciation of
The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields’ and to the sky
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
That is what the city was to the great bard of nature on September 3, 1802. The industrial revolution had not yet made the city dirty. The poet still saw the glimpses of the nature in the flow of father Tames when at the end of the sonnet he says.
The river glided at his own sweet will:
Dear God! The very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
That is what I too feel when from the roof of my house I look at the houses in the lanes and bye lanes – all leading to the roads. Peace and tranquility reigns supreme. The lanes look like small streams flowing to meet the river of the main road. The roads lead to the high way- they are not yet awake, the eye lids have yet to open. The dawn has all the more made them numb. The roads move in their stillness. Only a few hours later they will be crushed under the heavy feet of the mad traffic. They will themselves rush with sped.
Before the sun rises to its shining glamour let me enjoy the dreaming tenure of the cross at the church. The temple bells have started ringing. Lord Shiva is awake. The songs in his praise are moving the very soul of the people-men, women, boys and girls who just want to have a glimpse of the Lord to begin the day with a good omen.
Although there are not many pranks in my city. They come to life in the early hours. See the old couple moving slowly to enjoy fresh air. The young are in the lawns-some for brisk exercise- the others for yoga sans. Some young ladies run after the tiny kids who are running after butterflies. The birds too are awake and are twittering to the little human beings who have yet to learn how to walk. As the trees lengthen their shadows with the rising sun the park is left alone to prepare itself for its evening rush.
The street lights withdraw as the sunrays spread all over. The restaurant at the road crossing brims with life –a few minutes more and you will have a hot drink of your choice- a tea or coffee, vadas, idlis or dosha. The north Indian restaurant in the other lane offers jalebis and samosas.
It’s half past six. Half of the city is awake. Housewives are out with their kids armed with Tiffin box and water bottles waiting for the school bus or rickshaw. The young ones are more anxiously waiting for they have to bear the heavy burden of their bags and kits. They are disciplined chaps standing in a queue unlike their elders who would push one another after some hours to enter the bus for their office.
Now it’s time for me too to leave the glamour of my city where
Never did sun more beautiful steep
Never saw I, never felt, calm so deep!