It is past 6:00 a.m. I am sitting on the terrace of my home watching the sunrise. The sun, almost a strange, a dark shade of orange semicircle, peeped itself over the top of the top of river Ganges, like a restless child at a window. The white sky turning its color to orange-white like a painter is painting the white canvas with orange color. The rays of the sun gradually shifting itself over the rooftop of a hut near the bank of Ganges. The cool breeze from the Indian Lilac and Jasmine tree crosses by hair and making my hair to run across my face. I can hear the chirping of the sparrow and cawing of the crow; all these different sounds of bird are like listening to the old music on the radio. I stand up and walk to the edge of the terrace, and I see two small girls running around the pool of red chilies on a white bed sheet that looked like a violent burning fire wanting to engulf everything around it.
As I walk down through the spiral staircase I notice the grooves and furrows in the wall giving me the feeling of riding a bicycle in the valley. I can also hear the clattering sound of the utensils being washed by the maid in the kitchen. The dining area being in the open, reminisced the olden days when my grandpa and grandma loved eating under the starlit sky. There is a neem tree surrounding the dining area where I see the baby birds in the nest waiting to be fed. On the other side of the dinning area, the fan on the ceiling was turning like a Ferris wheel. The pink and white colors of the walls look like they crave for more vibrant colors. The old wooden cupboard standing alone in the dinning area with swirling designs that starts from the center of the cupboard and then moving out looks like a magical box waiting to be opened.
As I enter the kitchen, I see bottles of different spices on the shelves reflecting the light coming through the window like light being reflected from a glistening water body. The utensils hanging on the ...