My Summers Have Lost Their Warmth

I curse the summer heat that wraps me in its sultry embrace, leaving beads of sweat on my forehead. I love winters, I tell myself. But I am oblivious. Oblivious to the fragments of myself that still adore the lost summers.

My summer belongs to memories that I now unfold with every trickle of sweat I wipe off my greasy face. Those were days when a Cola tube brought more happiness than a bottle of Coke. Days that remind me of the long lost bliss of pouring chilled water into my shirt on a summer noon, or the spicy touch of chilly powder on slices of raw mango.


On those lazy afternoons when the sun baked the roads, our neighbourhood stray would not care to raise an ear to a passer by, and we would wait for the clock to strike five- the hour when the center of the field turned into a cricket pitch, and the air, filled with sporadic ticks and tocks of plastic balls against bats until the sun shied away beneath the horizon where the sky bent over us to meet the distant lights of the city.


On summer evenings painted dark with hours of load shedding, I would silently let out a cry of joy for not having to practice mathematics. Lying on our rugged roof, and smothered in the odour of burning mosquito repellent, I would stare endlessly at the first love of my life- the night sky. The starry night sky, that would then not bear the reflection of city lights, but the darkness of its own enriched by widely spaced stars; the starry night sky that I would imagine, stared back at me with matched awe. And I would drift into my thoughts that questioned the reasons behind the inception of it all, until the city lights came back to life, and I would pretend to be too sleepy to finish my homework.


My memories of summer nights belong to the times when we didn’t have an AC to lull us to sleep. I would stare at the noisy fan that stirred blasts of hot air, as Mum would ask me to close my eyes and find the snowland that she had created for me on the other side. ‘If you think of the snow, like that on the wall calendar, you won’t feel the heat anymore,” she’d say.


Today, as I write this, my summers linger like static electricity between me and the starry night sky that has lost its darkness it once had, and I realize how snowlands on my wallpapers do not soothe anymore. I realize that my summers have lost their warmth.


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