Summer has always been my love. Summer comes with colors and beauty. There is a beauty in dried brown leaves and greenish pond that sits still by a scorching summer afternoon. Summer in the town glistened on the asbestos of the grocer's house.The pumpkin creeper lied on the bamboo fence, tired and disturbed by the heat. I looked at the courtyard, to the flapping wings of those lazy pigeons. They splashed within the bowl of earthen pot. I envied their peaceful life and couldn't accept the fact that they do not get homework to complete. Grandpa played cards with his mates, his wrinkles relaxed once he won a match.
Nights would not call slumber. The dampened humidity would keep us awake, when we would sit on the terrace to gossip about life. Father would discuss about what happened in the world where as mother would talk about her world that she weaves day n night. The express train would pass by whistling away, and we would suggest an idea of vacation. Mom would water her plants and get excited about a trip, which probably never happened. Giggles and laughter would embrace the terrace till we fell asleep. The jasmine grove would smell like seventh heaven and the breeze would call us to bed. Our beds were just beside where the jasmine creeper grew and the master window whispered the stories of red and blue fairies to our ears, and dreams ? dreams would just fall in place !!
The lane that passed by our old house, left isolated. It awaited for a man to pass by, a woman to escort her child back home, but alas! summer has censored the clamor of the busy lane to seclusion.The wheels of the rickshaw stopped by a huge mansion, the puller took a quick nap under the shade of a banyan tree. Children ran towards the sugarcane cart, to sip over a glass of cane juice. The juice tasted yummy with a tinge of lemon and ginger.
Men talked about their hardships through out the day over a puff of cigar, while women took bath before evening comes down. We would spend the afternoon at our attic, and watch the birds return to their nests at the day close. My sister would play with crayons while I would do pot painting.The sky would turn rusted as the sun would sleep by, the cooler evenings would invoke laughter and giggles. Evenings would lit the town up to good spirits.Girls would pleat up their hair and wait by the window to take a glimpse of her love pass by, women would light oven to prepare supper. My mother would call us to help her with chopping onions and ridge gourd. Girls engaged themselves to help their mothers, and whispered to each other about their crush who lives next door. We sat on the floor to have supper and laughed our hearts out as we spoke about the maid who fought with her ferocious lady and denied service for her, or we would speak about the man who bargained his wallet out for a half kg brinjal in the market.
