Each morning dawns with a single bird starting up the sunrise symphony with a single note. Then one by one by one, many many different birds and tones and insects and semi-tones and trees and rhythmes and leaves and beats and breezes join the music in a way that makes it absolutely impossible to believe that this is an unrehearsed performance. (It probably isn’t, you know. The sun is probably the conductor, and maybe he refuses to come up if every note of the show isn’t sung to perfection.) As wonderful as the music is, the pauses in it are even more so. Crafting themselves perfectly into the music of the morning, these pauses seem full of a certain faith that the the next sounds will follow - correctly, gracefully, without fail. And so they do. The coconut fronds rustle, and exactly at the moment that their whisper is falling away, a faraway peacock calls. Before you are done wondering about that call, the sweet shrill chirruping of crickets starts to steadily rise to a crescendo. And before the highest point is reached, the birds on the jackfruit tree join in - all in different pitches and different tunes, but in absolute integrity with the theme of the morning.
I remember one morning when the theme seemed to be hope. There was a faint dusting of diamonds on the leaves from a light drizzle. The sun was still low enough in the sky to be shining through the neem trees next to the house, turning their backdrop into liquid brilliance. The crows were silent, while the shy barbet sang a soft upward trill. The crickets had chosen a muted track that morning. One more step and I saw our calf Varalakshmi standing and drinking milk from her mother Rupa. This was a sight we had been ceaselessly, desperately praying for, as she had been sick, and had not been able to drink on her own for many many harrowing days till then. And suddenly, from a distance, Nagaraj let loose his low, deep, rounded, curving musical bellow just as a big flock of parrots rose into the sky in a fountain of colour and sound, accompanied by a shower of raindrops that caught the sun’s rays.
I sometimes wonder what the best thing is about farm mornings. Is it the effortless compositions in myriad different themes? The unbelievable coordination of sound and silence? Maybe It is the golden light or the caressing coolness? Or perhaps the promise of a new day? But I usually conclude that the best thing about farm mornings is that so many many innumerable beings come together to create this ever-changing ever-perfect music. Each cricket is part of it, each leaf, each drop, each blade of grass, each bough, each bird. Just by living their lives, they become part of this incredible consonance. Listening to it adds to the faith that just by virtue of each of us living out our lives fully, faithfully, we will become part of a larger symphony. A symphony as yet unheard maybe, but one that exists, as surely as morning follows night.