January fog in Punjab, the land of five rivers; lush and fertile granary for the subcontinent, is mesmerising. Like a thin silky veil, still and shimmering it takes away the shapes, brings at you silhouettes, appearing out of nowhere... The air is filled with liquid diamonds and rainbow reflections. Moist air carries the fragrance of soil, sugar cane, hay and incense. A distant prayer call from the temple gets honoured by a stray cow walking in silence with her head down. You smell the fresh churned butter and morning flat breads cooked on a hot plate.

Wrapped in a warm delicate shawl, you sit on a porch, holding a clay pot of sweet and milky masala chai, you turn your head to the sun reaching your face through the fog. It gets warmer, you smile with comfort.

Life bursts around you, and you capture the moment of stillness, delicious enough to look at the details again. There's a yellow weaver spider in the leaves of sugar cane, with a net dazzled by water droplets. There are drops of dew filling the air, nourishing your every breath.