Of Gentler Times and Innocent Pursuits

The mango trees are in full bloom. As I see one of these, I am reminded of the summers of the late 60's and the early 70's – the years of my childhood. I am back on the streets of my neighbourhood lined with beautiful bungalows set on large plots of land, surrounded by mango trees, hibiscus trees, caesalpinia trees, rose bushes, the fragrance of night queen pervading the air, zarbera, dahlias, jasmine, little plants with asters, marigold and an innumerable host of other flora.

The first inkling of summer setting in is the evening breezes blowing gently across. Oh, it is so soothing, after a warm day. Come early March, school starts earlier at 8 am instead of at 9 am. Makes sense, in that one gets to school before it gets too warm. But why do they send us home at 1 pm when the heat is at its peak? Playing after school hours in the hot sun, the nuns shooing us indoors threatening us with sunstrokes, going home with our tongues lolling out in the heat, eating some very cooling curd rice with raw mango pickle and drinking a couple of glasses of butter milk, then a siesta before one is woken up and made to get down to revision and studies – these are some memories that come back so vividly. At around 6 pm, one is given an hour of relaxation and then it is back to books. It is after around 7 pm that these glorious, soothing breezes start blowing across. Dinner is served at 8 pm. After dinner, dad sits in his easy chair outside in the garden. Our neighbour – an elderly lady on a wheel chair is brought out to get some fresh air. Her son and daughter-in-law are also present at the gathering. Mom joins them outside. There is some exciting gossip going on. “Amma, let me come out for 10 minutes”. “No, you've got to study. Have you revised your geography”? “I've finished most of it, Amma. Only 5 minutes”. “I'll ask you questions after 15 minutes. If you don't know your answers then, you have something coming.” Oh, dear! Dare I risk it? But my mind is anyway all outside :bang. Who cares where coal is produced or which river flows through which state? It makes no difference to my daily life. Sometimes, however, the milk of human kindness flows over and I'm allowed a generous 10 minutes in the evening breeze.

Even now, when I go home around this time of year, on that rare occasion (thanks to global warming) when I feel that breeze in the evening, it is this very memory that comes back. So much so, that I had named this kind of breeze the “examination breeze”. (Such an unfortunate association).

On days when we walk down to the market past all those mango trees in full bloom, a drop of something lands on my neck or arm. I jump in shock wondering if I have been blessed by a passing bird :shock:. No, it is just the nectar dripping out of the mango flowers. How long is it since I have felt that drop of sweet fluid on my forearm.

Survive the examinations and the holidays begin. Hurrah! I am the proverbial AVK (my dad's term of endearment for me for as long as he lived – full form being Avattu Vitta Kazhadai – or an ass which has been let loose) . Now start the days of lounging in bed till 8 am. My bed is next to a large window, out of which I can see the caesalpinia and jamun trees. I hear the sound of the sparrows early in the morning. My light coverlet is cool with the fresh morning breeze. I lie in bed just soaking up all these sounds of the birds and the gentle breeze. Mornings are spent drinking milky coffee, having breakfast and then collapsing onto my bed with an Enid Blyton. If I have finished reading all the books I have, run off to a friend's house to borrow one of her collection and to lend her one of mine.

Occasionally one might get invited to a friend's house. She lives in a palatial stone bungalow with a huge garden around. The joys of plucking raw mangoes off the low branches of the trees and eating them with salt and chilli powder have to be experienced rather than explained. Thereafter there would be some game like tailing the donkey. It is my turn. I am standing at a board with a chalk in hand. I am moving my hand slowly, trying to figure out where the tail goes on. My friends surround me and make excited sounds and giggles. I know enough to avoid the giggles and to follow the excited sounds of indrawn breath to draw a tail. Hey, I've won the game. How exciting. I come back with a prize.

Other afternoons are spent in the backyard with a platoon of 6 other kids, all younger than me – the oldest of them being a boy, a few months younger than me and the youngest around 4 years old. We have been banished from the house, because the adults want to have a snooze and we want to play. So we go to the garage at the back, which is conveniently located under a huge mango tree and play in the shade. Occasionally we play house. I am the “mother” - most convenient to me (am the proverbial lazy lump of corruption), because I can sit happily in one place on the ledge built surrounding the tree and banish daddy to buy groceries. “Daddy” is the kid who is the one next in line to me in the age scale. All the others play around and I watch the fun. Sometimes, four of us who are the oldest of the group go up to a room on the first floor and pretend we are detectives (à la five find outers and we have a password). We have not intention of letting the little devils :twisted: come in and disturb our game. But two of them around 6 years old are always upto some tricks, trying to eavesdrop on our secrets. We have a tough time trying to shoo them off.

On some days, my mom decides it is very hot outside and she does not want me making a ruckus outside. So I am quarantined inside the house. I sit there like a prisoner, peering out longingly at the other kids and wanting to go out to play. Suddenly at around 4-5 pm, there are strong gusts of wind, the sky clouds over, it grows dark, there is severe thunder and lightening which is followed by a heavy shower for about half an hour. We are waiting for the rain to stop, to run out and collect all the raw mangoes which have fallen off the trees. We are always allowed to go and soak ourselves and dance and prance around in the first thundershower of the season. After that, it is not allowed, as it is believed that getting wet in the subsequent showers can make one ill. (I don't know how much of that is true and how much old wives' tales).

Once or twice a week there is a man who comes down the street selling sugarcane. He has a very original way of selling his ware. He has made up a little couplet which he sings and dances along the road. As soon as we hear him around the corner, we rush off to the front gate partly to see his performance and of course to demand our share of sugarcane. On other days, I hear the bell of the ice-cream man coming round with Kwality ice-cream and I beg and plead for one.

There is also an old beggar whom we call “Seetaram Baba”, because that is what he calls out when he comes with his pail. It is my prerogative (no one else dare take that away from me) to give him his 5 paise coin every evening. (Somewhere in the course of time he stopped coming. It was only recently that I remembered him suddenly and wondered what ever happened to him). One more of the attractions of summer afternoons is the man who brings along a monkey and makes it do all kind of tricks (I guess children those days were not so sensitized to animal rights and cruelty to animals).

On some afternoons, we are summoned by the elderly lady (the children's grand-mother). We gather around her bed and she tells us tales from the Ramayan and Mahabharat. After an hour of that, we are free to loaf around,till about 7 pm, when I am summoned inside to wash my hands and feet (in my mom's opinion, I could easily pass off for a street kid), followed by prayers and then dinner.

Once every summer holidays, ice-cream is made in the pot with ice and salt around it and everyone fights for their turn at the handle. Everyone feasts on mango ice-cream as if there is no tomorrow.

Eventually the summer holidays come to an end. All my companions bar one (granny's son's daughter) go back to their own homes (they are the granny's daughters' children). I feel a twinge of sadness to see them go away. I shall have to wait until the next summer. It is now time to go buy new books, new uniforms and new shoes for the coming year and soon it is back to school.

 

dear sunitha,

that was an amazing response. thank you so much for sharing your childhood with us. actually, i read out all my blogs to my mom, and today i was so carried away, my voice cracked and tears flowed down my cheeks as i went back to those times. makes one very emotional.

 

thanks sudha.

i too feel sad that they may not have such lovely memories to share at a later point in time. technology has its pluses and it flip side.

but i guess we cannot blame the children. it is after all the job of the parents to create such moments for them to treasure all their lives.

all said and done, although i shall not hesitate to admit that technology has done a lot to make our lives easier, it has also done a lot to take the magic away from it. but sadly we seem to have reached a point of no return. this is the proverbial curse of the apple from the garden of eden.

 

thanks suresh.

 

Thanks so much Mira. True, those days will never come back again.

I really liked this bit:

Those days mom used to lock me in the house and go to the neighbour's house to watch a good programme (those days TVs were a rare commodity). My ears would be tuned to their front room to listen to what was going on. She might as well have let me watch the programme. :biglaugh