Six years seems like a fair enough time to get used to something. To get spoilt. To yearn for May showers even though for most of your life you may have believed it to be a rather English summer fashionista. So yeah, Bangalore has spoilt me. I can't deny that when it gets incredibly hot, which by the way it is to the point we are having to put not only fans but coolers to make it bearable, I wait for the May showers.
It's almost like a bad habit, which I don't know if I want to give up. Like my hot cup of chai, which I just happen to make after a nice shower and a rather rare but sumptuous dinner. I just darted out leaving a pile of work for later, and sat myself on the balcony, overlooking Nainital (smeedha) and yes in your spot too!
My thoughts drifted away to the early nineties when I was littler, and the terrace of our house in Bombay, and endless summers and growing pangs. I miss those summers when the raw mango shopping was done by the aunties, and we pranced around pickle pots, waiting for the mangoes to get pickled. Watching everyday for the entire season as ma brought them out in the mornings when we would help her put them to get sunned in the terrace, and right after sunset cage them back. If we forgot, and the pots cooled down, it would be an invitation for the ants to enjoy the sweet-spicy chinda, of course! Spending entire days cycling, and playing badminton, playing on the swing and reading. Not to mention watching tele matches, and Guinness Records on every Sunday. And despite the heat, not wanting the summer to end. I can't say that emphatically though. New books and getting that stationery fix is always exciting. And getting crabby teachers off our backs is always good, you know. I mean who doesn't welcome that kind of change. But it ends there.
But come June, and Bombay, which is in the line of fire from the southwest monsoon gets some of the heaviest showers. First few days were only about getting the best place in the class, and a decent partner. But evenings came quickly. And most of the time was spent waiting for ma to go grocery shopping during which time me, and then I passed on the skill to my sister, would clog the drains, wait for the water to fill up, and splash ourselves till we were mucky. Obviously, we lost track of time. Obviously, when the bell rang, we darted like arrows into the bathroom to get ourselves dry in what we thought was a split second, and open the door, pretending like we had been studying or some such thing. What we never read on ma's face was her slight smile, which understood everything.
My thoughts drifted back to the little paper boats, we clumsily made, sometimes with paper, sometimes with walnut shells, some with bright flags, others from our badly done homework or rough books. Most of the time drowning in a second, but then successfully further clogging the drain.
I sorely miss the rains, and the terrace, and the paper boats.
And jumping little rainbows in puddles along the way back home. And gum boots. And my big bubble umbrella with a scarlet red piping, which my nana gave me in class four. And which covered me pretty much from head to gumboots. And which I propped as a tent to play camping in the house.
Years later, I would spend hours along Marine Lines or PDP, and watch the rains lash against the sea walls, mesmerised. And holding tightly onto my umbrella hoping it would not turn upside down. I miss that too.
It's funny how far you can time travel while sitting with a piping hot cup of tea warming your palms, and the May showers soaking the city. And the little doggy, who looks more like a bheegi billi sitting outside the building...
It's almost like a bad habit, which I don't know if I want to give up. Like my hot cup of chai, which I just happen to make after a nice shower and a rather rare but sumptuous dinner. I just darted out leaving a pile of work for later, and sat myself on the balcony, overlooking Nainital (smeedha) and yes in your spot too!
My thoughts drifted away to the early nineties when I was littler, and the terrace of our house in Bombay, and endless summers and growing pangs. I miss those summers when the raw mango shopping was done by the aunties, and we pranced around pickle pots, waiting for the mangoes to get pickled. Watching everyday for the entire season as ma brought them out in the mornings when we would help her put them to get sunned in the terrace, and right after sunset cage them back. If we forgot, and the pots cooled down, it would be an invitation for the ants to enjoy the sweet-spicy chinda, of course! Spending entire days cycling, and playing badminton, playing on the swing and reading. Not to mention watching tele matches, and Guinness Records on every Sunday. And despite the heat, not wanting the summer to end. I can't say that emphatically though. New books and getting that stationery fix is always exciting. And getting crabby teachers off our backs is always good, you know. I mean who doesn't welcome that kind of change. But it ends there.
But come June, and Bombay, which is in the line of fire from the southwest monsoon gets some of the heaviest showers. First few days were only about getting the best place in the class, and a decent partner. But evenings came quickly. And most of the time was spent waiting for ma to go grocery shopping during which time me, and then I passed on the skill to my sister, would clog the drains, wait for the water to fill up, and splash ourselves till we were mucky. Obviously, we lost track of time. Obviously, when the bell rang, we darted like arrows into the bathroom to get ourselves dry in what we thought was a split second, and open the door, pretending like we had been studying or some such thing. What we never read on ma's face was her slight smile, which understood everything.
My thoughts drifted back to the little paper boats, we clumsily made, sometimes with paper, sometimes with walnut shells, some with bright flags, others from our badly done homework or rough books. Most of the time drowning in a second, but then successfully further clogging the drain.
I sorely miss the rains, and the terrace, and the paper boats.
And jumping little rainbows in puddles along the way back home. And gum boots. And my big bubble umbrella with a scarlet red piping, which my nana gave me in class four. And which covered me pretty much from head to gumboots. And which I propped as a tent to play camping in the house.
Years later, I would spend hours along Marine Lines or PDP, and watch the rains lash against the sea walls, mesmerised. And holding tightly onto my umbrella hoping it would not turn upside down. I miss that too.
It's funny how far you can time travel while sitting with a piping hot cup of tea warming your palms, and the May showers soaking the city. And the little doggy, who looks more like a bheegi billi sitting outside the building...
1 comment:
The hot and muggy summer months and the muggy monsoon of Bombay....making Bombay the city it is! :)
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