Summer memories that bring a smile on my face. there are so many, the high light of it all was unfailingly the 11th of April year after year in those magical years as child, before my mother became the prototype of bay area mothers, my brother and I would keep a watch on the roads, to see the emerging Java or Bullet my grandpa’s younger brother Bhima-chikkappa would zip by on the bike.
The day would be unerringly perfect, the sun shining, breeze blowingm the birds and singing, there were no lawn mowers.
Packing never seemed an issue we just dropped few clothes into a shopping bag, ironning, dressing for the occasion were all unheard of. If we did have an event to attend we borrowed our cousin’s clothes. Down the slopes of perampalli, forests on either sides, into the endless highway that lead to Bombay, over the Kalyanapura bridge, I remember being mortally scared that the bridge would break we entered the rice fields of uppuru, here came the detour into the rocky terrain and unlaid roads, a sudden suprise of the beautiful Kolagiri church in the middle of nowhere, we now entered the land of sugarcane fields and mango trees,
Despite the resultant challenged intestines, and ulcered mouth, I agree with Henry James when he says summer afternoon-summer afternoon:; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English Language.
Know something Saul Bellow got it right when said Everybody needs his memories. They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door.