I wait for summer as if I am a sunflower craving to bloom under the sun. The warmth in the
air reminds me of the days when I was a kid running barefoot on the streets only to get that
one vanilla ice cream as soon as the ice cream bhaiya rang the bell on his cart. Mangoes now
don’t taste like they tasted when I snatched them half eaten from my brother. I remember
when Maa used to open windows in the mornings the birds would come inside the room and
sit on the corner of the table. Summers no longer feel bright in this empty house to me and
my wife, Priya, until our children and grandchildren arrive to make our house home again.
We eagerly wait for the arrival of summer because we get to reunite with our family this time
again, after a year.
“You’re still sitting here and dreaming, I told you to go and buy the items on the list you are
staring at for an hour now. I hope you’ll bring the things before the children come home.” My
wife fills the whole house with delicacies when it’s this time of the year. Any disruption in
the arrangements makes her so irritated. She wants to do her utmost to see our children smile.
I went to the store and hurriedly got all the things Priya asked for. Both of us arranged
everything and were desperately looking forward to meeting our kids. The doorbell rang and
I ran towards the main gate. I went gaga over seeing my daughter and her husband and kids.
Both my grandchildren jumped over me and we all laughed. I wish I could live this day
forever.
The summer I missed came back again through my grandchildren. Them running for ice
cream and fighting over the large piece of mango made me relive my childhood again.
Other than the season of summer, it is mostly me and Priya gazing at the ceilings of our
home. These days feel like years to us. And then summer appears and it passes in just a day.
I remember one sunny day when my daughter was five and she placed pieces of ice on my
face while I was sleeping. I suddenly opened my eyes and there she was chuckling and
chattering, “it’s summertime!” It became a ritual every summer. She told me she will never
stop doing that to me. I really wished she wouldn’t stop ever. But she did. She had to. She
shifted to another city after her marriage. The whole house started to seem like a universe in
which me and my wife held a corner and had each other’s back.
“Where did you keep my old books Dad?” My daughter Vaani asked one night. I took her to
the library I recreated at our house. Library is the only place in the whole wide house that
does not feel alone. It gives the impression that thousands of characters are talking to you and
assuring that they will never leave. “Wow! This is so cool Dad. I can stay here for my entire
life.” I hope she really can. Anyways, I showed Vaani her books and we sat there for hours
talking about them.
“Vaani, can you come here for a moment, please?” Priya suddenly called from downstairs.
“I’ll come in a minute, Dad.”
She left with me a book she was glaring at continuously. I, in amusement, quickly glanced
through the pages and found a piece of paper. There was something written on the half
shredded paper. I couldn’t read the last line as the ink was faded. The visible portion said- “ If
I am angry again with you, will you please know that I get angry only with people I love the
most. If I ever get irritated upon you, will you please hear the “I love you” whispering behind
the annoyance. I have always held your hand but I want to hug you this time. I want to wish
you more than just a happy birthday. I want you to know that I write poems for you. I’ll
maybe recite them one day casually to you, claiming the poem to be written for a
competition. I will wish that you know it is for you and if you do, do not tell me. Rather, just
smile looking at me or maybe hug me a little tight till I throw my shyness away and express
all my hidden emotions to you. Dear…..” and it faded.
Vaani came back to the room and I tried to ask her about the mysterious message but she
interrupted in between- “Dad, leave this, let’s go downstairs. Mom has baked cookies for us.”
She grabbed my hand and galloped me to the hall.
Days passed rapidly and I didn’t ask about the message again. I wondered if Vaani herself
wrote the message or did someone else. I wondered for whom the message was. The message
seemed much older hence it couldn’t be for Raj, my son-in-law, as he wasn’t present in her
life then. Was Vaani trying to conceal anything from us? This was written years back but it
still astonished me and made me anxious. Although, I did not have the guts to ask her. The
reason why she was peeping into that book constantly made sense now. Is the person she
wrote for still there in her life? I don't really know.
It was time now. Vaani, Raj and the kids were leaving. Goodbyes are always hard. This one
was the hardest. This was the last chance when I could ask her about the message, but I
couldn't. Vaani might be waiting for me to say something like I was waiting for her too. She
held my hand and whispered in my ears, “Do you remember the day when we were sitting on
the terrace and I read you a poem I wrote for my competition. Dear Dad, I love you.” My
eyes sparkled and I again couldn't utter a single word. So I dropped her hand from my hand
and hugged her in lieu. I hugged her so tight as if this moment was my entire life. I wish it
was. We both looked at each other and smiled. This time, we both communicated with each
other freely. Not with the words though. But with mere emotions rising from our soul into the
eyes.
“It’s time to go, Vaani. We’ll miss the train.” I had to let her go as soon as Raj announced. It
was a hard Goodbye but it was the best one I ever had. I wanted all of them to be with us
every single day. But I know it was not possible. And such is life.
The next day, it was me and Priya again, sitting on the couch, talking about life. “Why don’t
we plan a small trip to Jaipur?” We will, I smiled and replied, let’s go this weekend. After the
small conversation over the tea, we went back to our work. She was busy painting and I was
busy reading.