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SUMMER - In India, summer is the longest and the most enduring season of all, lasting from April to about July, by when its worst rigours are over. At its peak, during May and June, the sun goes up at 4.30 in the morning, cruises languidly across the sky, raises the mercury to a dangerous 45 to 50 degrees (Celsius,) and finally lays to rest after an elongated twilight at about eight in the night.
The days are long, uncompromisingly hot and featureless. Nights too are hot, "loo"(hot summer wind)-besotted, uncomfortable and mosquito-ridden. Discomfort apart, a reflection on the summer days does open a floodgate of memories of the childhood days, now irretrievably lost. One is reminded of the simple joys and pleasures that have gone for good, never to return.
We lived in a joint family in Allahabad, members together numbering about twenty-five. It was a motley crowd; eating, drinking, studying, sleeping were all communal activities, the success of which depended upon mutual adjustment.
To live each day without friction was a feat. Different members of the joint concoction had different aptitudes, likes and tastes. Quarrels and bad blood were rampant. The common kitchen was the easiest source for these rows - the food never provided universal satisfaction nor ever met the demands of the medley of taste-buds. The staple daily menu was "aloo ka rasa"(potato vegetable) and "baigan ka sookha"(eggplant), and it never failed to enliven arguments to raucous heights. The limited family budget, however, did not permit too many variations in the menu. My father and elder uncles were making the best use of their abilities to somehow carry on the business of living.
The house where we lived was large enough to provide a roof over all of us. It was taken on rent for a paltry sum of twenty-five Rupies per month. The highlight of the house was the large omnibus hall, which fulfilled multiple purposes, combining the functions of a sitting room, eating room, living room and a sleeping room. A portion of the house served as the office for my father, who was trying to establish his fledgling legal practice. Bathroom and toilets were in acute short supply for a clan of our size. To complete the daily morning chores in time was an ordeal - the business would start in earnest at five in the morning.
Nevertheless, for all the trials and pitfalls of joint family living, there were innumerable occasions of sheer joy and fun, the like of which are unimaginable in the atomised families of today. Many vivid memories of those days still survive and their mere remembrance transports me to a magic world.
Summer mornings used to be glorious. The first twitter of the birds would start as early as four a.m., slowly reaching a crescendo by six. While the elders would be up by 4.30 a.m., even the laziest of the lazy bones were expected to leave the bed by six, as the shrill cacophony of the early songsters in any case made further sweet dreams impossible.
There used to be magic in the early morning air. The heat of the previous day would dissolve in the night. The delicious smell of neem blossoms, the heady perfume of "ratrani", and "bela" and "chameli" would fill every nook. Grass would be soft and downy under the bare feet. Songs of cuckoos and crows alike rented the scene with a melodious cadence. One could for hours savour the morning gifts of summer, when every pore of nature would be taut and alive, and would tingle with sheer magic.A favourite pastime of we children used to be to gather the luscious, green mangoes which fell during the night from the trees.
I remember there were rows and rows of mango trees near our house. The entire street near the Polo ground was lined with them on both sides.
We used to wake up as early as possible and go out on early morning sojourns in search of mangoes. The big question was who would collect the most and win the day. The more daring of us even ventured into the private gardens, in the hope of collecting a trophy or two. The temptation was hard to resist --- the green gold, just across the fence, simply could not be given a miss! There would then be a mad run from the scene of larceny, stopping only when safely home. The individual collections were then counted and the winner of the day was declared, amid silent grudge, and resolutions to do better the next day.
I also remember vividly the long rows of sunshine yellow laburnums --- "amaltash" --- that dotted the small streets that led to my school. I used to go on a bike. The singeing "loo" attacked the very core of you. But the riot of yellow and red, unleashed by the amaltash and gulmohurs blossoms was something to be seen. Rows and rows of them, stretching to many furlongs, were afire with a summer blaze. It was indeed, the stuff of dreams. To sail down those streets, under the canopy of magic colours and intoxicating smells, was truly out of the world.
The best thing about summers was that the school gave vacations for two months. The half-yearly exams being over, it was now time for two months of uninterrupted, continuous holiday. It was the time for rejuvenation of the overwrought spirit, burdened to the breaking point with school chores.
With the pressure of studies and exams gone, one was suddenly set free --- to do what one liked, to go places, to visit friends and relatives, to play games, to catch up on story books, to see movies and so on. Even getting up early in the morning was now a joy.
Days would be spent chattering, playing, reading or simply doing nothing. I remember the wonderful afternoon siestas we used to have. There was no way one could go out of the house, as the temperature outside would be forbidding. After lunch, generally over by 1p.m., the only thing left to do would be to have two/three hours of solid sleep. The high skylights would be shut tight to cut out the heat and the light. The room would plunge into darkness. The best bed was indeed the cool bare floor. With pillows tucked under the head, it used to be most enjoyable to lie on the floor and savour the cool, scented air that wafted through the "khus" sheets, fitted on the doors and windows.
The peaceful siesta would be broken by the clanking of plates and forks and knives, which signalled that it was time for melons and watermelons. The pleasures of summer afternoons are indeed missed in other seasons, as no other time of the year offers such peaceful, indolent, care free hours.
An unforgettable memory, which lingers fondly, is that of the bedtime rituals that were practised every night in summer. As April matured, it would become abundantly clear that the single creaking fan in the sleeping hall was grossly inadequate to meet the need for providing uninterrupted sleep. It became too hot and stuffy inside. An exceptionally trying night would finally make us decide that enough was enough and that it was time to make the nocturnal exodus to the open spaces outside.
We had a big stretch outside which we lovingly called the garden. The trappings of a garden were all there - some grass and some flowerbeds. The modesty of the garden however, was not a reflection on the gardener, but a testimony to the savage predilections of the full-blooded younger generation which believed in living life to the full - the garden was the playground for their robust daily extravaganzas. It was, in addition, forced to fulfil the role of a bedroom for summer nights. The decision that from now onwards we would sleep under the canopy of stars would fill us with wild exhilaration.
There were chores to be completed. The cots, "charpoys," were dragged out and dusted. The ropes were tightened and replaced, if necessary. They were then neatly stacked in a corner. The lawn was assiduously watered - water was still plentifully available in those days. The 40 degree dead heat was assiduously drenched in the cool sprinkle.
Charpoys were then laid out in a row and a "dari"(rug) and a sheet would be spread on them. The most exhilarating moment now arrived - to select and to occupy them. The "kabza," or possession of the beds had to be timed judiciously in order to be successful. The other aspiring fellow sleepers had to be defeated in their similar endeavour. The energy spent on establishing the "kabza" would, however, come to a nought, as elders would later put their decisive foot down and forcibly transfer us to our respective parents, so that the nearest kith and kin slept in one group.
Sleep was preceded by full-blooded games, accompanied with shrill expressions of full-throated mirth and laughter. The proceedings would be cut short abruptly --- with a sharp rebuke or a sharper slap on the face. Even such forceful admonitions would fail to halt our activities, which would continue, though on a subdued note --- the spirit still in tact and untrammled.
The time to finally rest our aching limbs on the cool sheets would come at around midnight. We would laugh and giggle at each other contentedly as we lay on our appointed bed.
Gradually, a stillness and a trance would creep upon us, as we lay watching the heavenly pageantry above --- the moon and the stars --- all out there, brighter than ever. There were so many millions of them together.
Those soothing resplendent starry skies filled us with awe and wonder, and evoked a resolution in us, that one day, we would grapple with and unravel their mysteries, find answers to the eternal questions that have perplexed mankind since the earliest times. Slowly, as we lay, huddled together, sleep would steal upon us, marking the end to a wondrous summer day.
Rakesh Agrawal - belongs to the Indian Administrative Service, a premiere All India Service of managers and administrators, who are placed in top managerial posts in various government organisations in the country. At present, he is the Managing Director of OILFED, a cooperative organisation of farmers for growing oilseeds in the state of Madhya Pradesh. He has been government service since 1982 and has held various high posts in the Govt. of India and Madhya Pradesh.
Rakesh's interests are reading, painting, travelling and writing occasional articles for local publication. He has travelled widely in India and abroad, visiting the UK, Germany, France, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Japan, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Dubai. Mr. Agrawal and his family reside in Bhopal, India.
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