http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Editorial/MORNING_RAGA_Just_Another_Day/articleshow/3670046.cms Every morning, the neighbourhood wakes up to high decibel music followed by an elderly gent on a girl's bicycle. The music comes from a transistor set inside the cycle's metal basket. Almost immediately, a mutt that has adopted the lane as home<http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Editorial/MORNING_RAGA_Just_Another_Day/articleshow/3670046.cms#>barks and makes happy sounds.
The drama brings life to a standstill in the lane. Housewives sweeping the front yard pause. Others, working on the kolam, stop in their tracks. As per the routine, the man pulls up next to a red sedan parked outside a house. There he switches off A R Rehman's 'Vande Mataram', leans the bicycle on a beech tree<http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Editorial/MORNING_RAGA_Just_Another_Day/articleshow/3670046.cms#>, and reaches into the basket for a slice of bread for the wagging-tail dog that has followed him. Later, with great ceremony, he takes off his tattered cloth jacket and peak-cap, and places them inside the basket. He then opens the gate and ambles into the house. Smiling red flowers, lush green lawns and the heady fragrance of south Indian filter coffee greet him. A few minutes later, he returns, sleeves rolled up, swab cloths on shoulder and a bucket in hand. On seeing him, the pooch jumps up and down, acting silly like it hasn't seen him in years. There's more man-animal interaction before the car wash. Some time on, job done, he potters back into the house, shouting something into the kitchen<http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Editorial/MORNING_RAGA_Just_Another_Day/articleshow/3670046.cms#>window. On his return the jacket and cap are donned, in slow, deliberate motions. There's a quick check in the cycle's rear-view mirror. Cap is adjusted to right, jaunty angle. Before mounting the bike, he winks at the dog with both eyes. This makes the shrivelled up face even smaller, older. He then presses forward, flicking on the music. Immediately Sudha Ragunathan bursts out with 'Maathey...' dramatically scaling the morning raga. The mongrel jumps, squeals, forgets it's an old dog and rushes ahead, circling the cyclist. By now women with jasmine flowers in their hair and tidy little kids await the school bus, retired officials on patios look up from broadsheets and neighbours head to the window to see the morning drama. The old dog returns to its station, grumbling before settling down. As the silvery shafts of light pierce the honge tree, the classical raga lingers momentarily and then gets lost in the melee of another day in the city. http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Editorial/MORNING_RAGA_Just_Another_Day/articleshow/3670046.cms -- regards, Vithur
