From all the windows lining the running track, the stars peek at me.
It's as cold as Bombay allows and as quiet as Christmas mornings can be. Somewhere in the distance, the church bells ring. The thump of feet of the morning joggers is laced with the occasional sound of laughter from passing cars. Red santa hats and shining faces returning home.
When I walk back home, people are trickling onto the streets in satins and bright shades of Christmas. Children are squealing and holding out gifts and wrapping paper that has been clearly ripped off in a hurry.
The lights on the trees are hidden amidst the light of the day but they are festive all the same.
The smell of cake leaks into everything and the day suddenly appears to have taken on a glowing shade of happiness.
It's as cold as Bombay allows and as quiet as Christmas mornings can be. Somewhere in the distance, the church bells ring. The thump of feet of the morning joggers is laced with the occasional sound of laughter from passing cars. Red santa hats and shining faces returning home.
When I walk back home, people are trickling onto the streets in satins and bright shades of Christmas. Children are squealing and holding out gifts and wrapping paper that has been clearly ripped off in a hurry.
The lights on the trees are hidden amidst the light of the day but they are festive all the same.
The smell of cake leaks into everything and the day suddenly appears to have taken on a glowing shade of happiness.
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