Lakeland

Over the past few days, I’ve tread this path many times. I love how the dew feels cool beneath my feet, and clings to the grass like it doesn’t want to let go of the night. There’s a softness in the world before it wakes — and I move through it like a quiet unassuming guest, someone who doesn’t want to disturb the world.

By the time I reach the stone platform by Vembanad Lake, the sky has started to stretch. A line of soft orange demarcates the blue. The water is the sky’s twin. Fishermen sail by in their canoes, their silhouettes dark against the horizon. A bird calls once, sharp, treble-pitched. 

I unroll my mat by the lakeshore. 

I begin in stillness. Not movement. Not effort. Just breath. The warm, earthy scent of wet soil, water, and distant incense that I inhale awakens my still-sleepy senses. 

I exhale whatever I don’t need — my worries, self-doubts, and fears. 

The lake isn’t just a view — it’s part of the practice. Its placid, languid character fills me with an inexplicable calm. Its vast expanse reminds me of my tiny place in the universe.  I let my breathing follow its rhythm — long, deep, unhurried. Like the lake has lungs, and I’m borrowing them.

As the first rays of the sun break free and touch the water, I move.

Padmasana. Pranayama. Balasana. My body isn’t perfect, but it’s honest. The sun paints the sky in layers — apricot, rose, then gold. My sweat trickles into the mist on my skin. The breeze is gentle, and I feel it move through me as if I’m not a barrier, but a channel.

I try Virabhadrasana II facing east. The sun is above the horizon now, bold and whole. I breathe with it, matched and steady. My heart feels open. Awake. Beating in primordial rhythms. 

There’s no playlist. No timer. No voice telling me what’s next.

Just the lake. The sun. My breath. My body.

And that’s the magic of it. It’s not about perfect poses or progress. 

It’s about being there. Fully. Without distraction.

It’s about moving in sync with something ancient — not the routine, but the ritual.

When I finally sink into Savasana, the sun is fully up. The light is everywhere. The lake glitters, smiling and radiant, happy to bask in the rays of the sun..

I lie there, palms open, heart soft, lungs full of light and pure oxygen. Feeling alive,  recharged — and ready to face the rest of the day.

I roll up my mat and walk back through the grass — the dew now warm, the world now beginning to be a little busy. But I carry that stillness with me, tucked somewhere deep behind my ribs.

And every morning, I return to the lake.

Because somewhere between breath and sunrise, I remember who I am.