There was still time for the sun to emerge out of his slumber but the clues were there. It looked like the sun was out of his duvet, and just freshening up, his golden mane visible under the clouds. When he finally emerged, it was like fireworks in the sky - colours and sparks splattered across the vast expanse, his power and rage and light eclipsing everything else. Everyone stood still and watched, mobile cameras in hand.
We managed without a car for about two years here in Ireland and during this time, my husband would often complain that he missed being behind the steering wheel and I often thought I missed the man he becomes when he is behind the steering wheel. As the husband starts driving again, I am looking forward to some conversations. The kind of ones we only have when we are on the road and he's driving and has shed off his shyness and his reticence to talk, and is in a happy, meditative, reflective kind of space. I am also looking forward to the music he introduces me to when we are in a car. This past week, he introduced me to The Salmon Dance by The Chemical Brothers and even after listening to the track twice, I missed out on all the swear words that are a part of the song, and kept bobbing my head to the music until my husband laughed out so loud that I was a little startled.
Even if many such plans are cancelled with the new restrictions, it will be a small price to pay for the safety and health of everyone. Personally, the fact that I had a few absolutely beautiful days gives me the strength that if the coming months have more of social isolation, I will be okay. There's just so much loss and suffering around us because of Covid-19 that whatever problems the new restrictions might pose seem inconsequential in the larger scheme of things.
was reminded of this particular incident from our early days in Ireland because I have recently had a haircut and I wear my big hair open. When it is windy, my hair flies everywhere, sometimes like a halo drunk on electricity, at other times an unruly being with hundred long arms.
Summer in India meant the terrace being taken over for pickle and papad making, of waiting for dusk to fall, of afternoons of unbearable heat made kinder by attar infused water splashed all around the house, by the curtains who fought a war against the sun, and the hour long comforting siesta as the afternoon roared and raged outside. Summer in Europe sometimes meant a Facebook wall being filled with 'We are in Malta' or 'Spain is lovely' or 'Greece - you are such a beauty.' Of photographs of cobbled streets and maddeningly blue beaches, of sunsets the colour of a rainbow, of vineyards and country roads. Of picnics and barbecues, and trips to the beach , of long queues on the M25, of longer ques at the parking, of the aroma of roasted corn on the cob, beef and chicken patties, of hot dogs being worked upon on little barbecue stoves.
The Banyan tree and other stories 