Whispers of a broken light

Hills of Innocene

Do you want to know me? I'm Abi. Let me tell you about the world I inhabited in the Nilgiris,Hills of Ooty, India. There was an undeniable charm to this place, something that a ten-year-old girl like me found impossible to resist. Each morning, I would take my steps along the winding
roads, lost in the enchanting beauty of the hills. The air was crisp, the weather cold, and the atmosphere so invigorating. Ooty, the "Queen of Hill Stations," was an oasis of tranquility nestled among the Nilgiris Hills.

The tea plantations painted the landscape with shades of green so rich and vivid, they seemed like an artist's dream come true. Every leaf rustled in the breeze, whispering stories of the hills. Sometimes, I'd pretend to have conversations with the tea leaves, sharing tales of my latest escapades.As the sun's first rays kissed the hills, the sky would transform into a mesmerizing canvas, awash with shades of pink, orange, and a hint of purple. It was a daily spectacle that never ceased to amaze me. I felt like a spectator in a grand theater, with the sun and clouds playing their parts with theatrical finesse.

But there was more to my mornings than just admiring nature. Arijit Singh's soulful melodies filled my ears, and I couldn't help but dance to their rhythm. With every step, I felt the hills come alive, as if they joined me in my morning dance.

The tea leaves would sway in the breeze, and I'd twirl around like a Bollywood star, living my own cinematic moments. The beauty of Ooty, the magic of Arijit's songs, and my carefree dance made each morning unforgettable.

Ooty was not just my playground; it was my laughter-filled heaven. The everyday beauty of the hills and the comical mishaps intertwined with the enchantment of Arijit's melodies to create the fabric of my life.

And when the dance came to an end, I would return to our home, my mother waiting with her special coffee. Its aroma enveloped the room, and the first sip was a journey of warmth and comfort, much like the embrace of a favorite book. Yes, my mornings were reserved for reading, my favorite novels becoming my closest companions.

In the world of books, I found a different kind of enchantment. The characters in those pages became my friends, and I reveled in their adventures and misadventures. But books had a way of teaching me more than just stories. They nurtured my innocence, my wide-eyed wonder about the world, and my ability to find solace in the simple things.

And so, as I sat there, sipping that divine coffee and delving into the world of words, I couldn't help but laugh at the antics of the characters in my books. Sometimes, their predicaments mirrored my own comic adventures among the hills. I remember one particular day when I decided to mimic the monkeys that occasionally hopped about. I flailed my arms, chattering away in a nonsensical "monkey" language, and to my surprise, a real monkey joined my performance, making me laugh until my sides ached.

The mornings in Ooty were never ordinary. As the sun graced the hills with its presence, Arijit Singh's songs played in my ears, and I danced to their melodies, my heart was filled with joy and laughter.

Little did I know, life had more surprises in store, waiting just around the corner.

My home in Ooty was as picturesque as the hills that surrounded it. It was a small, cozy house nestled amidst the lush greenery. I was a single child, the apple of my parents' eyes, and the center of their world. My mom and dad were the epitome of warmth and friendliness.

You see, my parents were unlike any others I'd come across. They were a bit different, a bit quirky, and I loved them for it. My mother, the heart of our household, was such a contrast to me. She was meticulous, organized, and sometimes, her perfectionism grated on my carelessness.

Her morning routine was a sight to behold. She'd wake up with the sunrise, her dedication to the daily chores nothing short of astonishing. While I danced and twirled in the hills, she managed the house with utmost efficiency. The house had to be in perfect order, every dish in its place, and the floors so spotless you could see your reflection.

My dad, on the other hand, was the best friend I could have ever wished for. He was the yin to my mother's yang. He never said no to any of my whims or wishes. I'd call him the 'Yes Dad,' because he always responded to my requests with the same answer, "Yes."

While my mother fussed over maintaining the house, my father indulged my every desire. You want to go to the hills today, Abi? "Yes." You want that new storybook you saw at the store? "Yes." And so, I grew up with this incredible freedom to explore and discover, to be the carefree child that I was.

I was a bit of a handful, to be honest. My carelessness was notorious. I'd lose track of time, sometimes arriving home after the sun had set, sending my mom into a fit of worry. It wasn't unusual for her to greet me with a scolding, but her worry was always accompanied by relief, as if she couldn't stay mad at me for long.

My mother's world revolved around me, and she couldn't help but be overprotective. She'd constantly remind me of the dangers of the world beyond Ooty, but I would just laugh it off. Her anxiety was adorable, in its own way.

As much as I loved the hills and my carefree adventures, I was also an introvert, shying away from strangers and new faces. I had a fear of the unknown, a fear of being left alone, and it was perhaps this fear that made my connection with the hills so deep. The hills were my sanctuary, a place where my innocence could roam free, where the world made sense.

My childhood was a blend of these quirky family dynamics and my solitary escapades. It was a life filled with love, laughter, and an undercurrent of fear, all set against the backdrop of a typical Indian household.

Evenings were a different story. Our dining table became a battleground for food as my mother would insist I eat my vegetables while I'd devise cunning plans to hide them under my plate. Dad, the ever-entertaining referee, would be the one to put a stop to my antics, his stern look accompanied by a wink.

Our dinners were a spectacle of flavors and laughter. My mother's cooking was like a magic potion that could transform the most ordinary ingredients into a feast. We'd talk about our day, share our laughter, and sometimes engage in friendly banter about the latest news or the hill's many mysteries.

Our little family had its quirks, but we were bound together by an unbreakable love that made each day feel like a warm, comforting chapter in the story of our lives.