Summer was hot in Aurangabad. It generally began around the time of
Holi – in the first of second week of March. Schools ended in mid April,
when it was scorching hot, hot enough to burn your skin within minutes.
Not that it mattered to us. Summer meant freedom, freedom from the
daily routine of school. Chores were unheard of – the many privileges of
growing up with maids. Fathers in India at that time were the primary
providers. Memories of summer involved friends, relatives and neighbors.
The line was blurry to say the least between all these different
relations. Last day of school was celebrated with watching television
till late or may be going out for dinner or an ice cream.
The long stretching days along with the scorching heat ensured that afternoons were spent indoors playing carom board, cards or reading books. Evenings were spent riding bikes, going for walks or just loitering around. Summer vacation meant spending time with matriarchal side of my family. It was usually a norm then and those wonderful time spent with cousins ensured a bond and memories to last a lifetime.
Visually, summer was not pretty for sure, the parched dry land, cracked and thirsty for rain, dusty and the blinding bright sun. The saving grace was the Gulmohar trees, bursting into flames – I still can feel the touch of the petals running through my fingers or the evergreen Neem trees. The unexpected whiff of Jasmine’s fragrance that you catch while just walking down the street, embeds deep into your memory.
Afternoons were lazy, the water coolers with the sweet smell of Khus khus, whizzing by hypnotically slowly carrying you into drowsy sleep. The heat outside ensured that you were imprisoned in your own home for the day. Afternoons were also time to splurge into the juicy mangoes – mangoes of all sizes, shapes and tastes. Memories of summer always bring back the taste of mangoes and watermelons. I still cannot get myself to bring watermelon in cooler temperatures. The messy hands and messier clothes, the pure enjoyment in living in the present, no cares and no goals, that is what summer was all about. No vacation to plan, no holidays to schedule, no camps, just endless time and books – yes lots and lots of books for me. This was the time when I didn’t have to hide my novel inside my geography book pretending to study for exams. I could read out in the open and read as much as I wanted.
Summer also meant sleepovers in the open air, sprinkling water on the parched ground to cool it. Counting stars while braving the greedy blood sucking mosquitoes and talking to heart out with friends or cousins, sleeping till the sounds of chirping birds woke you up.
The long stretching days along with the scorching heat ensured that afternoons were spent indoors playing carom board, cards or reading books. Evenings were spent riding bikes, going for walks or just loitering around. Summer vacation meant spending time with matriarchal side of my family. It was usually a norm then and those wonderful time spent with cousins ensured a bond and memories to last a lifetime.
Visually, summer was not pretty for sure, the parched dry land, cracked and thirsty for rain, dusty and the blinding bright sun. The saving grace was the Gulmohar trees, bursting into flames – I still can feel the touch of the petals running through my fingers or the evergreen Neem trees. The unexpected whiff of Jasmine’s fragrance that you catch while just walking down the street, embeds deep into your memory.
Afternoons were lazy, the water coolers with the sweet smell of Khus khus, whizzing by hypnotically slowly carrying you into drowsy sleep. The heat outside ensured that you were imprisoned in your own home for the day. Afternoons were also time to splurge into the juicy mangoes – mangoes of all sizes, shapes and tastes. Memories of summer always bring back the taste of mangoes and watermelons. I still cannot get myself to bring watermelon in cooler temperatures. The messy hands and messier clothes, the pure enjoyment in living in the present, no cares and no goals, that is what summer was all about. No vacation to plan, no holidays to schedule, no camps, just endless time and books – yes lots and lots of books for me. This was the time when I didn’t have to hide my novel inside my geography book pretending to study for exams. I could read out in the open and read as much as I wanted.
Summer also meant sleepovers in the open air, sprinkling water on the parched ground to cool it. Counting stars while braving the greedy blood sucking mosquitoes and talking to heart out with friends or cousins, sleeping till the sounds of chirping birds woke you up.
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