As dawn breaks

 At 4.30 am.

As Dawn Breaks

On sleepless mornings, old habits, and the quiet comfort of tea

I often wake far too early—

that strange, suspended hour

when the world still sleeps

and even dreams hesitate to leave.

Eyes open, mind restless,

I wait for morning—

a dear friend who promised to come early but never does.

What a waste, I tell myself,

to lie here letting thoughts tumble and twist—

Will it rain today, or has the weatherman missed again?

What a tiring yet fulfilling day it was yesterday.

The carnivals rocked many a world.

What’s coming up next week?

Has the cat’s coughing eased?

Did that expensive plant survive the night?

And what are the neighbours dragging about

at this unholy hour?

I wonder how the day will pan out.

Should I make a to-do list—

or simply drift into another thought?

Before dawn, the mind becomes a restless bird,

flitting from weather to breakfast,

from the past to the improbable.

So perhaps it’s wiser to give up the struggle—

rise quietly, brew a cup of tea,

and see what the world’s been up to while I lay awake.

They say there are morning people and night people.

I’ve always been the former—

though my band days were quite the opposite.

We often played till dawn,

our guitars humming softly as the city yawned awake.

Funny how easily youth traded sleep for song.

My mother was the true morning soul—

up before the sun,

tidying her room,

then sitting with her tea,

dunking biscuits, rustling the newspaper—

her small ritual of peace

before the world began to call.

Perhaps that’s where I get it from—

not discipline, but affection for the hour itself.

From Allahabad to Pune to Dubai,

mornings have followed me faithfully.

In Allahabad, we slept outside under open skies,

the air thick with mango-scented warmth,

mosquito coils burning like lazy comets in the dark.

At dawn we woke fresh as daisies,

the city stretching,

the birds rehearsing their first notes.

In Pune too, we slept on the terrace in summer—

vast, starlit, full of whispers.

Sometimes we were sure we’d heard ghosts—

soft footsteps, shifting shadows,

a curtain moving when no one was there.

Perhaps it was only the wind,

but dawn always felt like deliverance.

And now in Dubai,

the same habit remains—

this quiet friendship with the hour before light.

The city sleeps, the desert holds its breath,

and I sit with my tea,

watching the pink edge of morning

slide across the sky.

“Early to bed and early to rise,” they said,

“makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”

Two out of three will do.

The early bird catches the worm, true—

though sometimes it only catches itself awake too soon.

I remember exam mornings—

the scratch of a pen,

tea in a blue and white china mug,

the quiet pride of being awake before the world.

Now, years later,

the house is still,

the air cool and clean.

I sip my tea,

watching the first light touch the walls—

and guess what I’m thinking of, as dawn breaks?

Whether I should… perhaps…

take a nap.

Crazy isn't it ?