A cozy, mellow winter morning of Hyderabad. The velvety crimson hue smothers the horizon in the east heralding the notions of a new beginning, illumination, and hope. The mellifluous pratahvandanam (praat-uh-vun-dun-um, that means morning prayer in Sanskrit) followed by ancient bell sounding in the neighborhood Vinayaka temple and Fazr ki azaan (which means the call for morning prayer in Urdu) from the mosque across the street, epitomizing the peaceful coexistence of two profoundly different traditions.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen I am furiously assembling the lunch boxes and breakfast for the man, in between sneaking from the kitchen window, the streets gradually getting crowded with school going kids and the office goers. However the rush got over in few minutes and then the hushed silence outspread on the street, in between punctuated only by some vegetable vendors.

Fatigued by the morning chores and dizziness I felt the need to take some rest and don’t know when did I arrive the realm of dreams.  The doorbell rang once, twice and thrice, suddenly waking me from a deep slumber. I dragged myself to the door, still half asleep, pondering at this unexpected guest.  As I opened the door, saw Sharda aunty my neighbor standing with her familiar smile.

“So rahe ama” were you sleeping, did I disturb you? No aunty, I was not feeling well, so was lying down simply”. I replied. I was in the second trimester and the morning sickness still continued. “Mereku thoda karvepak hona” I want some curry leaves if you have extra, she asks in her adorable Hyderabadi Hindi. I handed over the pack of fresh curry leaves that I got a day before from market. “Khana khaye ama, kuch khana, aisa bhuke rahe to kaisa chalta ama” Did you eat something? Don’t stay starving.  You’re carrying a life.” And I broke into tears. “I don’t feel like eating, this morning sickness is killing me, I replied. "Don’t worry, everything will be alright” she pacified me and went as she was in rush to go to the office. Next day aunty came with a big jar of sunundalu (urad dal laddu), that she made especially for me and handed me the box, with an instruction to eat one laddu every day with a glass of warm milk as it’s good for health especially in winter.

Gripped by nostalgia, my fitful mind takes me back to almost a decade ago as I’m making this laddu for Sankranti, the harvest festival. This post is a tribute to that unconditional love which is beyond any worldly pleasures.