It has been almost eight weeks that I have been in Delhi. Which brings me almost to the end of the summer I am getting to spend at home. Yes, being in Delhi to experience its glorious winter sunshine would have been spectacular. But, the luxuries that come with being at home almost make up for the rising mercury.
I get to crash on my bed early every night. I don’t need to tune out the err, varied kind of noises that emanate from my room at all odd times of the day in Pune. I have to wake up only to the alarm and not to the cacophony of a particularly (un)musical peacock who croons outside my window at dawn, interfering with all my dreams.
I get to spend some time with Mom and take her to the cinema on weekends. I get to smile as Dada settles on the couch, eagerly watching an episode of Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayan that I got for him courtesy this. I get to cheer for Rahul Dravid in the Pepsi IPL even as Dad keeps his fingers crossed for Mumbai. And the best of all, my weekends are about an unceasing series of delicious food that Granny cooks for her oh-so-underweight child.
I wonder how Pune and her quiet, honeysuckled lanes are doing this summer. Coffee Shop and Stop are probably packed to capacity every evening, with patrons guzzling away to beat the heat. Families are probably spending Sunday afternoons soaking in Sinhgad’s water park, creating ripples in Khadakvasla or watching birds in Pashan Lake. The moon, I am sure, floods the city silver each night though its beauty is lost on people measuring days by access cards and attendance machines.
Next month, I will go back to Pune. Away from the crowd on the Delhi Metro, the sweat and the grime, the raging winds. Sadly, that will also imply being away from the haunt of my childhood. The one place in the world where no one can take away the quiet of the afternoon. Where days go by in unending bliss, caught in a time warp where I still sport two pigtails and a giant set of spectacles.
In June, Pune will be resplendent with her summer glory. She will speak highly of her quaint walks where you can walk aimlessly, for once without a destination. She will also endorse R and one magical moment after another: watching a hailstorm from our office balcony, arguing late into the night over web-browsers, explaining to each other at the airport how months fly. And then, when I see him there, we will smile about how the months indeed have flown.
Really, despite the sinking feeling that nostalgia sometimes brings along, life is too beautiful to wile away complaining. So much for blazing summers! I can almost see the sky glitter with gold, silver and purple clouds.
And I smell rain.