Posted on Mar 9, 2005

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.