Lamps slowly flicker on and the scent of dusk fills the cooling breeze. Evening joggers amble by on the sidewalk. A car passes, then another. The ice-cream man has gone by our street for his last rounds of the day. Children are in bed now. She urges me to get some rest as well. We sure need every ounce we can get some days. Eyelids are growing heavy, but this moment needs a shrine. A scent of longing permeates the air. Crickets are humming their jingles into a darkening night, adding their chorus to a voice inside that whispers "savour it".
In another decade, on another continent, a night like this would be the beginning of a special magic. Routines would change overnight. Daybreak would stretch and melt into the mid-morning warmth and a heady mix of hunger and boredom would lead to adventure and possibilities. while white hot afternoons would eventually simmer into purple evenings carrying aromas of dinner, sweat and excitement aloft.
The days agenda called on parents, uncles, aunts, siblings, cousins, friends, not-friends and complications like that cute girl glimpsed yesterday. Ointment for the sunburnt, colas for the heat-ill, puzzles for the bored, ice-cream fridge-raids for the wicked, gulmohur shade (and petals) for the annoying and therefore exiled, cricket for the well-to-do, swings for the plebs, and so on till the sun made itself the sole concern. There were naps to be had, movies to watched, puzzles to be solved, kitchens to be rearranged, cookie jars to be caught emptying and endless energy to be expended while waiting for sundown. Then perhaps there was dinner out at a restaurant with shahi-paneer or chow-mein? What treats were in store for dessert? Would we watch another movie? How late could we stay up? Sleep was for old people. Summers were forever, an infinite world of tomorrow.
"Savour it." Summer is brushing spring away. An aura of possibility and wonder has returned, this time seemingly radiating from the little people breathing softly in their beds. It's their turn now. We're the adults in the backdrops of their stories. Still, even as bit-part players, perhaps we can share in the adventures together for a little while longer. The hours, weeks and months carry weight now, more heft. Long days, sometimes, but short years. Summers are still forever, albeit in sepia, the eternal world of yesterday. "Savour it."
