For some, it starts at noon, for others at 3 am. My day starts the moment my mind attaches to something new - something I just read, a snippet of conversation, a worry, a news story, the sound of Karachi's myna birds, which caw at all hours of the night. I'm lucky - my day can start at any time.
How long is a day? Isn't it arbitrary the way we cordon off time? Where is the freedom in regulating every hour of life? When I was little — four or five — my day began with school. When I was in college, it began with paper cups of boiling hot tea, which no one knew how to make in America. Always too weak, that tea was a poor substitute for chai and a constant reminder of home, which I missed. It was later that I learned to be free. One thing I avoid doing in the mornings is reading newspapers. The days I don't read unpleasant news in the morning, I can find serenity. That serenity flows into a new day. It brings a certain happiness to my being. Rather, I try to read an inspirational story of a brave woman somewhere, who fought all odds. A sip of hot coffee in the morning, a nice book on some days are perfect starts too. There's a different variety to my morning everyday - a new purpose, a new vision. Writing in the morning allows me to open my mind and heart to a topic and lets me take it places.
(As told to Nona Walia)
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