BonAppetour is a community marketplace that connects travellers with local hosts for unique dining experiences around…Read More →
“Didi, doodh phat gaya! “my maid screamed with a note of desperation in her voice, from the kitchen.
I left my exercise midway, and ran into the kitchen with the first drops of perspiration of the reason on my forehead. Indeed, the milk in the pan had curdled, announcing the onset of the warm season ahead. The streets of the city were red with gulmohar petals and the tree tops were fiery red with the gulmohar flowers that always reminded one of the days of youth that were full of poetry, of passion of love, of the company of the beloved.
There were other tree tops with the colours yellow and mauve too, but our street was predominantly a gulmohar street. One could enjoy these trees best in the month of April when they bloomed, spreading their red fire, which was a true treat to the eyes . During this time, there was a haze created by the polluted air in the city during the recent by bygone winter.
The air in the early morning and late evenings were still cool, often the branches would move with a light breeze. One could still enjoy the cool air, especially the morning walkers; one had said good byes to the dry winters, the colds, the coughs and the fevers. The silence of the morning would be broken by the melodious voice of the male koel bird. The bird visited the nearby garden in the mornings, treating everyone with his intoxicatingly sweet voice.
The ginger tea had already been replaced by the light black tea in most homes, as was in mine while sipping from my favorite yellow cup. I hummed a tune in the raag ahir bhairav, my favorite morning raga. Now, the cold wintry month had gone and April was here with a wave of newly discovered enthusiasm and happiness.
Through the glass of the French windows, I could see the bright red gulmohar tree. Under the tree, there was the bed of red gulmohar petals, which was my most desired morning view from my bedroom. The morning walkers and their dogs were soon replaced by bicycles and motorbikes, speeding cars, the workers, laborers, drivers, office goers filled up the streets.
I could see the smartly dressed men and women on their way to work. I also saw a colorfully decorated cow (gan -mala) whose owner, equally colorfully dressed up in bright saffron clothes, who went past asking for donations. A pair of lovers walked under the gulmohar tree, a young boy and a young girl, hand in hand, oblivious of the increasing traffic on the street. The busy day of the urban city had dream of the April morning. The reality of urban life, the daily struggle came to the fore.
But I knew a fresh bed of gulmohar petals would be visible the next morning again, bringing along with it the melodious voice of the koel and the freshness of another April morning.