Summer

Summer day is the most distinct thing I can remember from my childhood. I grew up in a village with lot of trees and some wilderness. In summer, only a few trees like neem or tamarind would be alive enough to give enough shade under them. Rest shed all their leaves to survive the summer. It's a bright day with white painted on all sides. I always had a pair of chappals that I rarely lost, unlike my other friends who would loose their chappals once every few months. Without the chappals the earth burns like firepit. Yet I could find the enthusiasm to run on burning earth to nearby houses. One of the things I never did in those summer afternoons was sleeping. Everyone would sleep under some tree's shade. Except me. I always had something to do. Something more interesting than sleeping. It could be making toys from branches or digging earth for water or making compose pits for my urine. Occassionally there would be an aeroplane overhead and I would run behind it with no thoughts on who uses it or why it exists. Aeroplane flying into the sun may have inspired many souls, but not me. For me it was of no consequence. It may be because my mind was always onto something else. Something else more interesting.

I miss the summer noon's heat. I miss the hot winds. I miss the burning feet. They unfreeze the body and activates senses with energy.

I know time is a one way path and I can never go back to my childhood. But I hope one day I roam under the summer heat without sparing any thoughts on the aeroplane overhead.