From the top of Lavale, the world below looks like it is trying to multitask. Part village. Part expanding city. And part construction brochure. The morning haze does its best to hide the confusion, but even through the soft grey, the jumble is obvious.

A set of apartment blocks stands proudly in the foreground, as if posing for an ad that has not been written yet. Behind them is a sudden burst of buildings that look like they belong in a different country. Blue domes, tall towers, arches, the whole theatre. It is the sort of campus that makes you blink twice, then check if someone is filming a period drama nearby.

Beyond all this, Pune stretches out in every direction. Tall buildings fade into the mist. Others stand out sharply. A crane leans casually into the frame, hinting that more construction is on the way. The land, however, stays unbothered. Patches of fields, open brown earth, scattered trees. All of them seem perfectly content to ignore the city’s ambition.

But the hill itself is calm. The trees in front rustle lightly. Birds chirp as if the valley is their personal auditorium. Every now and then, a dog barks somewhere below, reminding you the world is awake even if it looks half-asleep.

And then there is the sound of distance. A tractor starting up. A pressure cooker whistle floating up from a home you cannot see. An early-morning folk tune travelling up the slope. All of it carried through the crisp, cold air as if the hill enjoys delivering messages.

At 7.00 am a factory’s siren goes off. Loud. Firm. Reliable. It slices through the mist like a very punctual rooster. The view does not change, but your sense of morning resets instantly. Even the haze seems to shift slightly out of respect.

Once the sun rises higher, the landscape begins to reveal itself. The valley sharpens. Buildings gain edges. Roads emerge. The hills behind appear clearer, like someone increased the brightness. Even the castle-like campus settles comfortably into the scenery instead of surprising you.

By then your coffee has made its way into your system. The warmth spreads. Your thoughts soften. Whatever you were worried about before you stepped out feels a little foolish in front of this strange mix of serenity and cityhood.

Nothing dramatic happens. Nothing needs to.

You look out again. At the haze, the hills, the buildings trying to touch both village and city. And something inside you settles.

For a small, perfect moment, all is well with the world.

All is well with the world.