Every morning I look out the window to see if there is a hint of pink in the sky, if the sun is coming out bright or is it being obscured by the winter grey.
Looking at the sun makes me feel that it has shone in India on my family and the moment it comes here, it conveys to me the message that all is well back home. I believe that the sun is a messenger for me.
My retired parents live in north India where the winter months are extremely cold, and their house does not have central convection heating. They do have electric portable heaters, but there are also frequent power outages.
The only source of light and heat my parents and others can rely on is the sun. Every night as fog starts to descend to the roof of their house; my mother has just one earnest prayer-God, let there be sun tomorrow.
Soon as the sun is out, their life starts-my mother would pull out chairs and my parents enjoy a cup of tea together, their hearts filled with gratitude. My father would take off his thick socks and stretch his limbs out, letting them soak the sun.
The neighborhood instantly comes alive and people start meeting and greeting each other. One elderly gentleman would visit my father and they would talk for hours about how many days till they visit the bank for their pension or about politics. This social connection is possible only if the sun is out.
My mother would arrange her chores, sequencing the tasks around the hours of sunlight. She would keep her jars of pickles out in the sun; otherwise it grows fungus. She would pull out her sewing machine and start sewing a new shirt for one of her grandkids.
Lunch preparation follows soon- shelling the peas or chopping the spinach or soaking the legumes in water in the sunlight so that they can be cooked in half the time. She would then run the laundry because the clothes would dry the same day!
Street vendors start flocking the street, shouting out loud to sell their goods, from potatoes to baked goods and from dishtowels to blankets. The ladies would examine the merchandise and bargain vigorously until the man gives up and leaves without agreement, only to return back to sell at the ladies’ price.
This hustle bustle continues until late afternoon when the sunrays begin to recede and everyone seeks recluse inside their homes.
With the oceans and deserts and time zones stretching between me and my parents, the sun brings this visual of their daily life crystal clear to me. Days that I don’t see the sun-my day goes on with this constant worry that my parents’ life is at a hard stop and they are huddled close to the heater, silently praying for the appearance of the golden sunlight the next day.
The sun holds life together for all of us and unites us with our loved ones.