I seem to have developed this small morning ritual of pulling aside the curtains of my bedroom window and spending some time breathing in the fresh morning air ? watching Pune rustle from its sleep..

My window overlooks the apartment next to ours? and there is a small lane between the two?

In the evening the lane is occupied by kids.. and the narrow strip of tarmac functions as their cricket pitch. The morning however, finds it barren, except for a row of two-wheelers parked alongside.

I like watching this lane in the morning? the morning walkers passing by; the young with a focused and determined expression, completing their morning exercise regimen? all pony tails and sweatpants? and the more relaxed retired stroller, for whom the joy of the walk far supercede the aftereffects? white shorts and canvas shoes.. and in some cases ? a white handlebar mustache?

Today at Pune , we had the first misty morning for the season. The Sus hill range that is ever so green in the distance was hardly visible, my breath curled around me in a lingering good bye as it became indiscernible from the wisps of steam rising from my tea cup?

The weather was so much more silent, somber and gray. The folks at the bus stop, attired in dark formals? seemed to agree with what the climate had to say. Cold mornings seem to have this effect on people, as if they withdraw into themselves to seek that lil extra warmth..

It reminded me of so many wintery mornings gone by and yet not any one morning in particular?

The misty cold of Lucknow? with small fires buring by the road side, where you share the warmth with the ragpicker who set aflame the refuse he gathered off the roads?

The biting chill of Kumaun? where the snow gleamed of distant mountain tops while you contemplated the right time to draw a bath?

The strings of lights at beach shacks in Goa? dimmed by the euphoria of music and alcohol for a 30 day new year eve?

The slight nip in the air at Hyderabad , which reminds you to carry along that sweater? Just In case it became colder.. which never really happened..

As I said? reminds me of so many mornings? yet not any one in particular.

Something has changed out here? I have been leaving my office at 6 PM everyday for more than a week now. I am not used to it and am a bit unsettled by this. I am in the process of changing my project?. So I am in what we call in IT jargon, ?Transition Period?

Things are really cool nowadays, I get emails by the dozen but in almost all of them I do not need to take any action ! Just delegate it- Delete it ? forget it !!

Life is different if you manage to come out of office everyday at 6 !! You get to read so much more, browse a little longer in the neighborhood library, strum the guitar while sipping that amber fluid?. In short, its quite good.

But then, in the extremely convoluted logic of an IT guy?s mind, my self worth seems to be determined by the number of issues that require my attention ! Now that I hand over the Admin passwords of all project related systems to newer folks, I feel as if I am giving away something personal. Stupid, but thats the way I feel?..

As I leave office at 6, there is this guilty conscience nagging me that dude, others are still at work?.Anyway, whether guilty or not, I am quite happy with having some more time for myself, especially since I know that the coming week is going to be hectic as usual.

Anyway, I did not start this post for cribbing about the way I feel about my job, I have enough posts on that subject already?.

What I want to write about today is my fascination for wind chimes?.

The first time I actually saw and heard a Wind Chime was when I , attended a 10 day Vipassana course at Igatpuri as a part of my Bschool curriculum. They make you stay silent for 10 consecutive days, you cannot speak, or see eye to eye with another guy? no I am not writing about that experience either?.

The Vipassna center is a campus in the cusp of a hill, wooded and shaded, and so very quiet?

I had a favorite place in the campus, they had a small Pond, with an ornate roof supported by marble pillars?

The surface of the pond was so covered by a patch of water lilly that water was hardly visible.

Around that pond there was a grove of ancient trees, dark and green.

And suspended from the branches of one of these trees, was a Bamboo Wind Chime?

Have you every heard the sound that a bamboo reed makes as it strikes another reed? No its not quite like a knocking sound? its much more hollow and so much more musical.

I spent hours sitting beside that pond and listening to the wind chimes and the rustling of the trees?. I skipped lunch and bunked the meditation classes ? and escaped to my solitary dreaming beside that pond?.

Now in our house at Pune? we have three wind chimes of our own?.. One is an ornate fiber affair, tall, decorous and somewhat pretentious in its own plastic glory?. Greeting each burst of air with majestic swish of its many crystals, musical and a bit dashing.

The other one was a gift from a common friend, and it possible reflects the personality of the person who gifted it !

It is small, has slim metal rods that clink with a delicate ?ting? whenever the wind brushes by, unobtrusive and immensely adorable.

And the latest addition , is brass one that hangs from the window of our hall, it has 5 bells, that need more that a mere gust to make their presence felt. Its beautiful, with a curving brass stem with bells attached like leaves. It has a habit of making you forget that its even there, only to tinkle suddenly out of the blue when a gust of wind manages to rouse it from its slumber?

Its nice, really nice?.