Midsummer Noon

Lata could finally hear her granny’s soft rhythmic snoring, oh, how long did she wait for it! She knew that nothing, not even the loudest barks of the neighbouring dog, could disturb her granny’s or, as she used to call her, her Dadi’s siesta once the snoring was on. It was time to kick off the mission. She wanted to be super cautious; today was the only day she had to accomplish one of the greatest feats of her life. Her Amma had gone to the monthly flea market, called a haat, in the nearby village and would return only in the evening. Amma was a bit taken aback when Lata denied to join her and insisted on staying home with Dadi instead. However, she did not push her too hard, after all even Amma deserved a day-off, a day completely to herself.

Lata grabbed the opportunity and tiptoed across the courtyard, and then gently opened the blue front door to step into the front yard.

She was greeted by a sudden gash from the scorching sun. It was the most unforgiving time of the year—a May afternoon in the plains of North India. Lata was aware that it would be hot outside but she definitely undermined the intensity of it. For a second, she hesitated to step further but a sniff of the lingering aroma of the mango blossoms made her regain her confidence.

A mango tree stood tall in the middle of the yard and that was where she intended to be. She knew that the tree owed her one since she protected it just last month from an ant infestation, that too the red ants—everyone knows that they are the nastiest, one sting and you feel the pain for hours. She now needed the tree to return the favour.

Lata was not your average six-year-old village belle. Her knowledge about the world could put her Dadi and Amma to shame, thanks to her inquisitive mind and Maya di—her class teacher and luckily, neighbour.

“One, two, three...” at three, she sprinted in the direction of the tree with her full might. As soon as she reached the shade, she smiled in relief revealing the cutest dimples on her chubby cheeks. She felt an instant respite from the sun. “Plants release water droplets in the summer and that’s why the shade is so cool”—her six-year-old mind recalled the fact that she had learnt at school. She thanked the tree and started collecting the fallen leaves to form a heap to sit upon. She sat on the heap with her legs crossed and palms on her cheeks.

“I wonder how long would it take? I don’t want Dadi to get up and drag me back inside.” Lata knew the risks but her eyes were set on the reward. Therefore, she waited.

“Koo-ooo,” she suddenly heard a koel-cuckoo call. She grinned, “I will defeat you today koel,” she thought and koo-oood back in a slightly higher pitch. Whenever she tried to indulge in a “koo-ooo” battle with a koel, her mother would ask her to shut-it. She had an opportunity to defeat the proud koel today, who could stop her? “Koo-oooo,” she heard the koel call out, louder than before and she reciprocated. The match continued for a while, with the pitch increasing by every call. Suddenly, Lata gasped when she realised what a grave misstep that was.

“Oh! How foolish of me! I almost woke Dadi up. Okay koel, you win again but we will have a rematch soon,” she declared, narrowing her eyes. The duel thus ended.

An enthu-cutlet that she was, as time passed, it became more and more tedious and boring for Lata to wait under the tree. She had already tried to count the blades of grass around her, collected the nearby pebbles and arranged them first according to their size, and then by colour, decorated her braids with assorted leaves, untied her red ribbon and tried to tie it again, but in vain.

“Come on, come on. When will it happen? Was Amma lying this whole time? But her nose didn’t grow! She was telling the truth. Then what is the reason?” Her nervousness was growing with every passing second. “I will learn how to read a watch next. Maya di can teach me,” she was adamant.

Today was the only day she had; Amma would never let her step out in the sun ever again! She worried and wondered and without realising, dozed off under the mango tree.

“Lata, Lata! Oo my wonder girl!” these words from a distance woke her up from her slumber.

“Ah!” she experienced a stinging pain in her right cheek. She had been sleeping with her face pressed against one of the pebbles, the dark brown one, from the arrangement she had made a while back; it had left an impression.

“Maya di!” she exclaimed in excitement as she saw a young woman calling her name from the neighbouring balcony.

“What are you doing outside, in this heat? Does your Amma know?”

“Shh!” gestured Lata. “You will wake up Dadi. And Amma has gone to the haat. How will she know?”

“Wait. I am coming to you,” Maya was amused. With this girl around, there was never a dull moment.

“So my wonder girl, what are you trying to do? Can I accompany you?”

Maya was the last person Lata wanted to encounter today. Her plump cheeks turned red in embarrassment. She murmured something, which Maya could not comprehend.

“Lata. What did I tell you? Strong girls express themselves loud and clear,” said Maya, faking a stern voice.

“I am trying to be you,” said Lata, loud and clear.

Maya tried to hold back her laughter and smiled tenderly. “But how baby?” she asked with all the empathy she could gather.

Lata took a deep breath and started narrating her story.

“So, Amma gave me this idea a few days back. I was playing hopscotch in the courtyard one afternoon when she asked me to come inside and sleep. I resisted, she always wants me to sleep.” Lata rolled her eyes and continued. “She then came to me and whispered; of course, she would whisper, it is a secret you know. She said that if I play in the sun, I will become like you.”

These words stung Maya hard.

***

“Don’t play in the sun or else you will get dark, who will marry you then?” was a regular chant of the mothers of the village directed at their daughters. To them, a fairer skin tone was the most important yardstick, which the patriarchs used to gauge the suitability of the future brides for their barely eligible sons. Moreover, a good marriage, according to these mothers, was the only guarantee to a ‘happily ever after’-ish life.

Apart from being Lata’s neighbour, Maya was a teacher at the local primary school, which she started exclusively for girls. In her early twenties, she was by far the most learned person in the entire village. However, this was not an attribute she was famous for. Her dark mocha skin tone was a point of intrigue among the women, and even some selected men, of a place obsessed with white skin.