| Recent Novels |
| Recent Stories |
| Recent NonFiction |
| Recent Poetry |
|
|
|
|
Written by Arpita Kumar
This is my favourite essay. Its about the Indian Summer
afternoons. I doubt
if many people will understand it except those from Northern India.
Lazy Summer Afternoons
Afternoons are that time of the day when Nature unbuttons its
waistcoat and stretches its legs and drifts in sweet repose. When
everything
is so quiescent and after a satisfying fiesta all one desires
is a sound
siesta.
Summer afternoons are beads of perspiration on the temples of
an
officer, trickling down his neck where a loose tie hangs. A worn
out boy
dragging himself down the dusty road, dreading the admonishing
from his mum
for loitering about. A cow sitting on a corner of a street, under
a Neem
tree, chewing the cud. A dry tap, a lonely road, the swirling
dusty loo, a
yogurt pack on a nasty sunburn, a pig-tailed girl sitting on a
window-sill
reading Enid Blyton, the whir and creak of an old fan, a class
-room locked
away for holidays. Eyes glued on the telly for a super - hit.
The
exasperation of a power -failure, the pleasure of the succulent
mango
cascading down your elbow. A glass of cold water after one's short
sojourn
out, the flapping dress in the scorching wind, the droning sound
of the
insect on the wrong side of the window struggling to get out,
the cricket
fanatics screeching at the top of their voice when a six is hit
oblivious of
their sun-streaked hair and tanned faces. Summer afternoons are
yawns and
stretches , they are short naps and unpalatable lunch, they are
drowsy
children finishing their homework, they are a dozing peon , a
sweating
rickshaw- puller , a panting dog and a flaming Sun in the lonely
sky.
Summer afternoons are shorts and shirts, a filmy muslin dress,
it
is the cuckoo of a koel amidst the Jamun foliage, neighbourhood
children
pelting stones at the green mangoes. It is the tinkle of ice in
tall glasses
of mint flavoured "Rasna" and the crimson skins of Dehra
Doon lichies.
Soon these lazy summer afternoons give way to the hustle and
bustle of the evening. Summer evening of the 5 p.m. horde of commuters
packed in the tempoes. Evening is a lavender , mustard and a dusty
grape
sky. It is tea - kettles on the stove, it is a family excursion
to an
ice-cream parlour , a child bawling for all 21 flavours, a harassed
Dad
licking at his quick melting ice - cream cone and a bewildered
pre-adolescent demanding for a "Cheeku" flavoured milk-shake.
It is the
birds heading for home and the Sun vanishing under the horizon.
