It rained at early dawn. I carried my self-made breakfast, prepared with homegrown vegetables, out to the garden table. The table was still partly wet and strewn with fallen leaves from the Chikku tree above.
The post-shower air was refreshingly cool, quiet, and sweet-smelling, scented by the newly opened night flowers of the nearby mara-mulla (മരമുല്ല). The atmosphere was pleasingly vibrant with the gentle chirping of a few early birds. In the background, the plants glowed in the soft light of the rising sun, just as you see in the picture.
My usual blue Sanku Pushpam tea had turned pink with a drop of lemon.
The chairs were empty. Of course, I could not invite anyone for such a casual, solitary breakfast. Yet that emptiness was filled to the brim by another Emptiness—the serene gaze of the Buddha, sitting composed beneath the Mangosteen tree.
As I was scribbling these words on my phone, a little wide-eyed squirrel descended from the Chikku tree and curiously watched what I was eating.
Another gaze that fills me beyond all emptiness!
KMG, 3 October 2026
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Breakfast from my own kitchen garden feels different.
This article was quite a coincidence for me, given what I had been thinking about. I walked into my garden this morning, picked a few fresh vegetables that i watched grow, and brought them straight into my kitchen.
There is quite happiness in eating something you have grown. No super market shelf, no long journey – just soil, sunshine, patience and a little bit of my own effort.
For me this is not just breakfast. It is a small connection to the way our ancestors lived and to the simple joy of growing our own food.
A meal from my garden, made in my kitchen perhaps the most satisfying kind of breakfast.