It’s early in November, and it’s early in the morning, and I sit here trying to write. The sky is hazy once more as it tries to cope with the growing city. But the sun, the sun is ever so yellow and so warm. In the few hours it has taken me to write these words, the city has remained quiet. The day is getting on, but the slow comfort of winter creeps about every home. You can hear the roar of engines and the vehicles moving about, but it is not as loud, and there is a peaceful mood to the day. I wrote this much and got off the chair to walk about the flat and wasted some time here and there. Then, I rolled my sleeves, sat back again and began writing. Sometimes, we are out of touch with what we want to say. It does not mean there is nothing to say; it only suggests we should keep trying.
But there is little to say, for I woke up happy and in good spirits; there is little you can say about it. I’ve always found it curious how, when we start laughing again, we must also build a convincing case for it. And when we lose our laughter, even if intermittently and temporarily, we must, again, build a case for it. We must, on all occasions, be prepared with an ironclad defence. God knows what people ask when they ask things, and you do not want to be flustered and give the wrong reasons. But today, I shall have no such problem. Today, my reasons are simple: the morning was fresh, and the sun was golden. It was an excellent beginning to a somewhat typical day. There is little need to say anything else.