Bulbuls on the Almond Tree

I can feel the breeze tickle my senses, as he echoes from one sunlit space to another. I look out onto the garden on the podium, lined by fragrant frangipanis and red-leafed almond trees. A pair of white -cheeked bulbuls sings atop a branch by my kitchen window, their throats throbbing in coordination. I pour steaming tea into my favorite cup. Morning calls me outdoors, not letting me cuddle back into bed.

All the neighborhood cats lay stretched in shapeless ease by the pathways. Our little, Rumi has found a new friend – Simba, a plump yellow-brown cat. They chase each other along the dewy green lawns. Rumi has never been happier! She needed a playmate of her own kind.

My bedroom window allows all of the morning sun onto the bed. Just then, I see a black and white wide furry head peeping inside. I named him Romeo, the neighbours’ cat, who has a typical curious expression all the time. “Is Rumi in? “, he asks with confused mischievous eyes. Then another vain looking white head stares at me. She seems to be Romeo’s mate. I named her Nooria.

Romeo and Nooria call my new terrace their own--- strutting their stuff around my plants, that have been slightly traumatized by the big move and new surroundings.

I look on, enjoying my tea and toast with hummus and olive spread. February in Abu Dhabi has the perfect weather. Not too cold, not hot. A cool wind blows all the worries away. My day is vacant. I get ready to unpack all the memories and neatly organize them back into the respective cupboards of the mind.

I rewind a few days back, when I was packing the past ten years of my life, trying to fit them all into ten boxes! We lived in that beautiful airy sun filled penthouse for a decade. It was my boys’ first home. My mother used to visit us almost twice a year, being a part of my changing routines around growing children. My heart was heavy as I neatly collected handwritten letters and diaries in musty-flavored paper bags. With old Hindi songs for company and a glass of wine, I unwrapped my life, took a whiff of the fragrances of yesteryear and then repacked the selected ones to carry with me to the new place. It was a cleansing exercise for my soul.

We stepped into new surroundings with an emptied mind and no excess baggage (at least on the inside), hoping to make beautiful memories for the next growing stage of my boys.

As the sun goes up, I can see the fresh blue pool from the boys’ bedroom window. The sky drifts with lofty cloud movements. Definitely twice a week, I promise the water and myself.

Our cycles have a nice parking spot as well, where they are waiting eagerly to explore the shaded lanes around.

I do miss the clear panoramic views of sunrise and sunset that the penthouse used to offer at all times of the year. But if I peep out awkwardly from the boys' room, I can see the sunrise and from our bedroom balcony, the sunset, atleast at this time of the year.  However, I guess, to embrace new experiences, some old doors need to be shut.

I say a silent note of gratitude to the old penthouse, for being there for us through the Covid times. I open the glass door to the new terrace to water the plants. The pergola casts a pattern on the earthy terracotta tiles. The pink bougainvilleas sway against the desert beige walls. My Zen garden is waiting to be rearranged with newness. The doves await their flowery birdbath.

As I clear the last of the most important boxes, I keep the book I was reading, into the bedside drawer. My heart smiles silently as I notice the bookmark on a new chapter…