Mornings meant seeing dad do yoga in the living room. Breathing exercises followed stretching. Then, he stood upside down on his head, sometimes cracking his eyes open to see my sister and I fight over a pencil. His face red, a few veins still popping out on his forehead, he joined my sister, mom and I for breakfast. He did try to make us practice the routine ourselves, but we had our excuses.
Fast forward to now, when both his daughters are married, and one has a three-year-old kid. Old ways still thrive. He still does Yoga, the same 30-minute sequence. But nowadays with his granddaughter hovering around him like a bee. He still comes to the breakfast table with his face the color of beet. He did try to make us practice the routine ourselves, and thank god for that.
It took three decades, but finally, my mornings also mean a yoga session in the living room today.
Happy International Day of Yoga!