The Summers of Childhood

Have you ever felt this way before? When you are rushing through your daily chores, when you have forgotten what day of the week it is, when you are running to just get into that over-crowded train, have you, just once in the middle of this routine; felt a sudden whiff of reverie?

A hustling and bustling city has very few options to offer if one is looking for solitude. But somewhere, in the midst of those unending crowds, it lies there, waiting for you to return. Sitting by my favourite spot in the city-the Marine Drive, I look on at the vast expanse of the sea; I look on at the horizon where the skies meet the sea, the waves lash against those rocks, a number of people walk by the lanes-some for a jog, some taking a stroll, and some, simply facing the sea, looking away from the crowds, enjoying the solitude. Slowly and steadily, the sky changes its colour-from the azure blue, to a bright crimson, to a dull grey and finally black. One by one, the jewels of the Queen’s Necklace light up, giving the night the beauty that it deserves. One after another, the stars show up in the peaceful skies, the waves sing a silent song; the water-relatively still awaits the night…and suddenly the wind blows, and that whiff of reverie hits me.

It is the month of March- the scorching heat, the sultry weather giving the signs of the onset of summer.  Since the last couple of years, March is the month of financial year endings, of filing returns, of completing appraisal cycles, of pending promotions and of professional transitions. Almost a decade ago, March was still the month of year endings, of last minute jitters, of promotions and of transitions-academic year ends, last minute examination jitters, promotions to a new grade and transitions from primary school to high school. March was the month when we waited, sometimes patiently, often impatient for that last exam, for that last day of school and for the beginning of the summer breaks. It was not the dry, tropical, torrid weather that reminded us of the summer-it was the countdown to the holidays, the dry gust of the winds of relief that blew as the days neared our favourite time of the year.       

“Home for the holidays, here we come!”, we shouted in sync as the school bus dropped us back home on our last day. We had 2 months to look forward to-no school, no exams, and no worries! It was the best time of the year, when no alarms were set, when the uniforms neatly ironed, were put away and the books, neatly stacked, waited in a small corner till June.

Summers meant a time to develop our hobbies- a weekly visit to the library to pick our treasured stories, the thrill to finish a book before the due date, and the urge to read a new book every fortnight. 

Summers also meant learning new sports-being pushed into the waters, yet learning to stay afloat, “Run faster!”, a coach would yell at a morning summer camp, and the happy, tired faces at the end of the morning session. Sometimes, vacations also meant learning arts and crafts, painting and music; but on some other days, vacations simply meant lazing around and laughing to our hearts’ content watching Cartoon Network. Holidays signified unlimited play time. They symbolized the long, calm evenings that were spent playing with friends, petty fights and momentary hard feelings, long hours of cycling and cricket, going to the nearest house on for a water-break, running, shouting and in the end slurping the tangy-sweet gola, together.   

This lasted for a few weeks and then came the next best phase of the vacation-a visit to Nana-Nani’s home. Summer meant a visit to our maternal homes, where we would be showered with lots of love, pampering and of course, gorge on our favourite dishes. Those days when we could sleep till our hearts’ content, eat till we were stuffed to the brim and watch TV till we fell asleep. It was that time of the year when Nana would ask me to make a list of places I wanted to visit, savouries I wanted savour, movies I wanted to watch and books I wanted to read; while Namina would ensure that I learnt to be disciplined, learnt a few household chores to help Mummy when we went back home, learnt origami, become more proficient in reading and writing Gujarati, become a little more religious, and learn a few new games to teach my friends back in school.

The onset of May marked the smell of fresh mangoes, a visit to Mama’s garden to pluck the ripe mangoes and gorge on the raw, tangy ones, with a pinch of salt till our teeth got the tang. The countless bowls of fresh aam ras, the tower glasses of mango milkshake, the post-lunch and post-dinner sessions of sucking the ripe mangoes till the yellow stains got all over our clothes-it was the best season. Summer was the season of pickles-The varieties of fresh pickles, pickles to be stored for the rest of the year, and pickles which were made by placing the huge utensil on the terrace in the scorching heat (it only got better in the heat of the sun). Summers alluded to ice-creams of all types and flavours, of long drives in the pleasant nights and of fun and frolic with cousins.

As I watch the stars in the cloudless sky, I am reminded of those nights in the terrace, as we slept off, in a mattress laid out in a line; counting the stars, watching the moon, locating the North Star, the cool summer winds singing a lullaby; only to be woken up in the morning by the first rays of the sun. As I sit by the sea this quiet evening, a distant petrichor takes me back to those first rains after a long summer, when we ran out to dance and play in the rain, unaware, undeterred by what lies ahead of us.

The fear of results never crept into us, the beginning of the new academic year brought new anticipation-of new friends to be made, new books to be brought, new uniforms, new school-bags, the list was endless. But it seldom brought worry; it rarely resulted in anxiety, and never into fear. But that was more than a decade ago. We were kids back then. We didn’t know what the future has in store for us-or maybe we didn’t care. We took life as it came, without fretting over the distant, unknown future.  

Tomorrow is another routine day. The same old morning rush, the same old over-crowded streets. But among the mundane, you might suddenly remember the summers of your childhood, the unseasonal rains might make you a bit nostalgic and you will smile to yourself and maybe ask someone- Have you ever felt this way before?