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My parent’s front porch.

The winter sun has just risen in the eastern skies lighting it up a soft orange. It makes for a lovely contrast to all the verdant scenery around me. The smell of flowers and incense drifting in from the temple next door makes for a heady ambience to have a strong cup of spice infused tea. I sit sipping tea on the steps of my parents’ house in Imphal. Its only 8am but the whole village is already abuzz with activity. I can hear the neighbour calling out to her children scooting them into the auto-rickshaw(tuk-tuk) to get to school. The temple courtyard opposite the house is hurriedly getting occupied with fresh herbs and vegetables for the lunch feast in a couple of hours and the priest is ordering the young attendants to tread carefully as the ground has been rendered moist by last nights thunderstorm. I can hear the sound of shuttles flying across looms and the spinning of the wheel as my grandmother prepares yarn for weaving.

My mother can see me drift into a different realm and she nudges me out of my reverie. “Would you like to help your father? He’s trying to plant some beans in the vegetable garden.” Yes of course I would! He’s always full of funny stories and maybe someday I’ll write about his myriad & rich experiences. I wonder if he’d like that?

After that perhaps I will take out my pen and notepad for a quick scribble. Maybe I’ll finally finish the floral painting today or should I do some weaving on my grandmothers loom. Or perhaps I can go to the market and see what new woven designs have made their way this season. If I’m lucky I’ll get to do all of it for time here seems to flow at a pace where one can hear all the sounds, see all the sights, smell the divine and taste the incredible.

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