What kind of a morning is it when you hurriedly pass by your niece, run your fingers through her hair and say 'shonuu' and she follows you around the house going, 'Shonuu, shonuu'?
What kind of a morning is it when you read the editorial and hold your head, wondering for the second day in a row, what's wrong with the world?
What kind of a morning is it when your cabbie plays jhalak dikhlaja a zillion times during the ride?
And what should you think of yourself when you hear it for the third time and feel like dancing to it?
And what kind of a life is it when you keep composing long, rambling posts in your head and don't get the time to post them?