HELLO JI!

A WORD (OR TWO HUNDRED) FROM THE EDITOR

A fresh fruit vendor in Bangalore, India. Image credit: LUCAS MYERS on Unsplash.

Summer afternoon, summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. So said Henry James. But I only “got” what the venerable author meant after moving to Canada. All our days in much of India were beautiful, sunny and warm, so I never really understood the fuss over a summer afternoon.

In Bangalore, where I grew up, and cities like Delhi and Lucknow that we spent our vacations in with extended family, summer seemed endless. Mangoes and watermelons by the basket. Sneaking pieces of pickles from barnis that my grandmother and aunts had placed in the sun. Lying on cool sheets on cots on the terrace, as an aunt regaled us with ghost stories while the adults swapped other stories nearby. Boat rides on the river Gomti. Jumping over the walls of the Residency – why we never asked our parents for the small change that constituted the entry fee escapes me – and playing among the ruins of the British empire, blissfully unaware of the history that had played out there a century or so ago.

Summer was something I took for granted.

And then something I yearned for when we moved to Canada. Like the lines from that Gulzar song, Dil dhoondta hai, phir wahi, fursat ke raat din (the heart searches for the carefree days of one’s youth) which was, in turn, inspired by a Mirza Ghalib sher.

In Canada, after a long winter, when the days get longer and brighter, I find that I not only unhitch my shoulders from around my ears, I just feel so much happier and full of hope.

Just the words summer afternoon conjure up a multitude of pleasurable images. Long walks in the park. Sitting under the shade of a tree with a book, a jug of neebu pani, coconut water or chhaas at hand. Lazy afternoons by the water somewhere, occasionally wading into it, but content, really, just to sit on the shore and watch the waves. Taking out my pretty cotton kurtas. Salads and sandwiches with chutney made with fresh coriander, mint and green chillies from my little patch. Watching squirrels scurry away with yet another green tomato I’ve nurtured for weeks and not grudging them their lunch. Running out to greet a passing ice-cream truck with the littlest member of the family. Or teaching him names of the flowers that bloom in my summer garden. Spending a couple of hours weeding at dawn with birds keeping me company. Sitting on the deck under a bright night sky, breathing in the scent of honeysuckle.

Each day stretches – quite literally so – filled with endless possibilities. Things I worried about appear trivial or at the very least, eminently handle-able. But, as an ad for the clothing company Province of Canada pointed out, summer is in short supply. They were punning on supplying shorts for the Canadian summer, but it got me thinking.

We’ll be pulling out sweatshirts before we know it. But not today. Today, we celebrate summer.

Shagorika Easwar