Sunday Morning

A sedated Sunday morning on the balcony.

Down on the inner courtyard, somewhere among the palms and bushes, Mynas are chirping. The sounds from the trucks and cars, on the highway nearby, provide a sonic backdrop that never ceases. Day and night there is a constant flow of traffic, a vital logistic artery between Mumbai and Pune.

In the fields, between the Vastant Vihar Towers and the highway, there is a group of shacks. Temporary living quarters for construction workers and their families. Out on the field there is a large tree, in the shade of which the families often gather. As is also the case this morning.

When I came here everything was green and lush. Now, after the winter and dry heats of spring, the vegetation is parched and the color of sand – waiting for the approaching monsoon rains.

The construction site on the other side of the highway – a co-op society and the Westernhills – has seen a lot of progress during the last months. Another new suburb in the developing Pune cityscape.

This scenery is something I’ve gazed upon countless times, with thought or in absence of it, and will undoubtedly be something that I will remember with fondness, in all its monotony.