The mist had not yet lifted off the Munnar hills when the whole family set out, grumbling, for a walk none of them had wanted to take. Achan had insisted. “One hour,” he said. “Then you can go back to your phones.”
But the tea gardens were impossibly green, rolling down the slopes in neat waves, and the air smelled of cardamom and rain. Little Riya found a stick and declared herself the leader. Her teenage brother, who had sworn to be bored, ended up racing her to the next bend, both of them laughing so hard they had to stop.
What makes a simple walk so joyful?
They paused at a viewpoint where the clouds parted just enough to show the valley below. Nobody spoke for a moment. Then Amma passed around a flask of hot tea, and somehow that ordinary cup, drunk on a cold hillside, tasted better than anything served at home.
The best mornings are rarely the planned ones. A walk in the hills, a shared flask, a child’s laughter rolling down a tea garden — joy, it seems, prefers the simplest of settings. Sometimes all happiness asks of us is that we step outside and look around.
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