Summer

I love the flowering of the Narra trees. This marks the beginning of summer for me. The time before that scorching summer heat drives you to seek refuge in front of the electric fan. That fleeting and ephemeral period that ushers in the summer season. The tiny orange blossoms that fall gently and cover the streets and pavements remind me of my childhood. In my blue and white uniform, I would pass by a private stretch of road to and from school where one or two Narra trees grow at the side. I loved stepping on the flower-strewn path that coats dreary looking asphalt with a subtly scented orange carpet. It signaled the end of another school year and the beginning of the two most awaited months for students, two heavenly months of freedom from assignments and examinations. I’m nostalgic for those days where the only thing you dread is the end of summer. Now, the flowering of the Narra no longer signifies the start of a carefree existence. There is less anticipation for the summer season since there are no more long lazy days where your time is your own and playing with friends till dusk is all that matters. It’s no longer a beginning but just another day in a chain of days of work and toil where pockets of freedom start on Friday nights and end too soon on Sunday evenings.