the open-window sit

This morning the anthems came from three directions at once — the school ground's PA, the society function, somebody's television warming up early. This evening, sit by the open window and let the day's leftover sounds arrive on their own.

Do not go out to the sounds. Let them come to the sill — the pressure cooker two flats down, the maidan's last cricket argument, rain if the month is doing its work.

Breathe in through the nose for a count of four.

Rest at the top, a heartbeat and a half.

Out for a slow count of six, receiving whatever sound arrives, refusing none, chasing none.

Settle, then again. Three rounds.

This, too, is a freedom — the settled kind that has nothing to prove: sitting still at your own window while the world files its evening report. You can stop here.