Memories of the morning

October 8th 2002
Memories of the morning

Something about the air this morning reminded me of
Hunza. The mid-morning air on a fall day in Vermont,
made me think of the early morning of a summer day in
the Himalayas. A clear image came to mind. I thought
of when I would wake up early morning in Karimabad,
and come out of my room wrapped in a warm shawl.
Before me would be a wall, an incredible wall. It was
lit up by mustard sunshine, which was purified by the
snow- capped peaks that it would reflect on,
Then the sweet Hunzai man, who had a mustache, would
walk down the terrace stairs. He would smile at me,
and greet me with the genuine, ‘ peace be on you’. He
would then ask me what I would like for breakfast.
Few minutes later, he would come back with cooked milk
tea in a kettle, accompanied by a Hunza version of the
Pakistani Omelette. The Hunza food is as simple and
uncomplicated as the Hunzai people are. As I would
eat, I would watch the mustard light grow stronger on
the seven thousand-meter mountains before me. I would
watch the mountain as if it were a painting. A
painting of many colours and many details. Or like a
sculpture of many angles, and several toll marks. How
landscape is pure art would amaze me- how no colour
combination in landscape are wrong would challenge my
mind. How the creator is the artist would make me feel
humble and shy. All my efforts to art and aesthetics
are so small, I thought. But each morning as I stared
and felt the crisp air on my ears and cheeks, I
thanked the creator for giving me the senses to be
overwhelmed by his creation.
And this morning when for a short moment the air
reminded me of those mornings, I felt blessed, once
again.