How I fell in love with Summer

 I hate Summers. I don’t like its brightness or over pompitous return of distant relatives to this small state in the southwest most corner of the country. I don't like the fruits or festivals or events of this season. I really don't like summer. Every summer my grandmother and grandfather would visit town and visit all these outsiders who once left the motherland for glory and money. My grandfather passed away last year, so this summer grandma insisted that I go with her. Nothing more than another reason to hate my vacations.


I really didn't care much about who and where I was going. First we visited the home of the late district magistrate. He was a close chap of my grandfather. The house was on the cliff and walking down the stairs, I could hear two ladies talking and water falling from a pipe. Though summer was terrible, flowers still bloomed the best then and the air was fresh and beautiful, just like her. Who was she? She wasn't the late grandpa's granddaughter, he knew her. But who was this other girl?


Something stood out about her. Something about how she didn’t know how to manage the pipe, how she wore palazzos and crop top in sharp contrast to her skin. She also had a purse. Who even carries a purse at home. There was something about her eyes and the flowers that just made her look like from out of the world, too bright, too pretty, too summer? How she didn’t care where the sleeve was or the fact that two new people were watching her laugh. My grandma seemed to know her. She seemed so familiar with both the girls' presence that I felt jealous of how I wasn’t. 


On seeing my grandpa, she dropped the pipe and ran to hug her, her companion - the denizen - rolled her eyes and continued the work of watering the plants with much more experience and perfection. “Natellie, I thought you didn't recognize me for a moment” . 


“Nani, how would I not. I sure do not recognize the young gentleman you brought along. Is he ‘the lazy potato’ you talk about”. There was so much air and accent to her words. She sounded like Mumbai. Her whole face seemed to move while she spoke, so did her hands. I didnt even realise she had moved her hand for a handshake until grandma brought me back, seemingly just to hold her hand. I don't quite remember what happened ahead, I just know we were all inside her house. She was always smiling, she scrunched her nose when complimented, she practically lived with nature during her vacation, she always had two strands of her on the face, she was lively. She was Summer. 


And before I could even comprehend her aura, I was promising her to visit again (with my grandma suspiciously looking at me) and leaving climbing back up the stairs. I wanted to look at her a bit more. Just enough to know what colour were her spectacles because they vanished when I saw her eyes. With all the muscles in my neck, I could turn enough to see her and her cousin sister (first cousin as I overheard in the conversation) going to the fish pond in their front yard.


I found myself returning there a lot. Sometimes to give her grandmother some mangoes. Sometimes to ask her dad about Mumbai (where she was born and brought up), Somethings to help with gardening. It took too many sometimes before I could come there just to hang out with her. 


She was unique, she was different, she was warmth, she had a lot to talk and yet so much to hear. I was thankful that her cousin went to her camp and she was lonely enough to visit me as well. I took her to the rivers, not because I liked it, just because she did and I liked her. Maybe it was the way she splashed water at me and how she found everything bemusing, the river did seem fresh in the heat as well. There was too much I could do with her. I could go trekking, cycling, and flower gardening. Everything seemed better because she liked it. Was summer ever bright and pretty? Maybe it was her.


For the first time I was sad that summer was ending. I loved the rain much more than the sun, but the rains took aways the brightness and her. I didn't have anything much to say as farewell except ‘Thanks for making my summer beautiful. It was the first time it has happened’. I was more than sad she was leaving. I was jealous of those who could see her during the rain, the cold, the autumn, the spring. She obviously has people who love every month of the year rather than me who hates summer. She comes from the CIty, I don't even like the towns! But I did like her. For her, maybe, I was ready to see the world for what it is. 


Thats when I saw her looking at me, at the final moments of her vacation as she lifted the luggages into the taxi. She looked sad or maybe my eyes did, but she came near me. She didnt do much, but just held my hands and look at my eyes, with something similar to what i had in mine and said - ‘You are my best Summer. Can I have it Forever or atleast the next year with you?’. 


Stupid me, I just looked at her eyes. No words, no reply. But I think she got the answer. I think she turned with a smile. I think we both did smile a little knowing that summer awaited us next year forever.


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