Sunlit Prism

I read somewhere that August is the Sunday of summer. It’s the beginning of the end of a lovely time. Before you know it, the leaves will transition from a vivid verdant to fiery shades of yellow, orange and rust. They’ll gently drift down onto the lawns and walkways alike, crunching and whispering under your feet, ready to be raked away by some industrious soul into great big piles, which practically beg you to jump into them with a triumphant yell. Yes, autumn is all ablaze with color and cheerful crackling of merry flames in the fire, but it still signifies an ending of sorts – a wistful nostalgia of days gone past, the waning phase of the moon.

Summer, on the other hand, has rapidly become my favorite time of the year. This is hardly uncommon: it’s the norm, not the exception. However, this is the first year in my just-under-twenty-five revolutions around the sun that I’ve been this hyper about summer-lovin’. Back home in India, it was more of summer-likin’ … of course I would adore vacation time, long lazy afternoons spent devouring a new book, optimally positioned to get the maximum blast of  refreshingly cool air from the water cooler… evenings playing in sandboxes in my garden, running around with friends in the streets, playing different versions of hide-n’-seek, hopscotch, land-n’-water, red letter, crocodile crocodile, and of course the ever-popular sitoliya. Summer was uninterrupted stretches of time with family and friends, and train rides across the country to visit grandparents and cousins, uncles and aunts. Summer was picnics on beaches, and waves on the shore. Summer was languid strolls after dinner. Summer was all about juicy mangoes, coconut water and tyre swings. Summer always seemed to be a relaxed, more stretched-out period of time. But the downside of course, was that summer was always excruciatingly hot. Relentless heat waves, beads of sweat, the mercury reaching ridiculously high levels every coming year… needless to say, the monsoon season would be a blessed relief. Sure, school would start – but by this point I’d want to go back and see all my classmates and teachers once again (yup, I was that girl). Monsoons are beautiful and unpredictable, with growling skies, sudden flashes of lightning, and torrential rain on the parched soil, delighting crops and humans alike. The first rains would be eagerly awaited, and celebrated with energetic splashing in puddles, and sailing of paper boats.  So while the end of summer signaled a transition, it would always transition into something fresh and cleansing, something so joyously alive… that it always felt like a beginning rather than an end.

Summer in NYC may be just as languid and carefree, but so much more precious because there’s this sense of urgency, this gnawing knowledge that it is ephemeral, a few fleeting months which will whiz past before you can say “sunscreen lotion”. Summer here is balmy, yet nowhere close to the scorching blaze of Indian summers. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt it’s too hot. The highest temperatures here have felt merely pleasant, or occasionally warm. I am always amused at native New Yorkers fanning themselves and complaining nonstop about how hot and humid it’s been. They’ll have the last laugh though, when I commence complaining about the bitter cold the very moment it dips to 60 °F. But till then, I am on a mission to soak up every last ray of sunlight I can access. And oh, there’s so much of it… in the midst of summer, the sun refuses to set till half past eight in the night. It’s so thrilling to walk out of lab at the end of a long tiring day, see the world still lit up in dappling sunshine and realize that hey, it’s NOT the end of the day yet! Summer is bright and cheerful, and the only time of the year you don’t have to layer your clothes. You don’t require sweaters and jackets of varying thicknesses, scarves, mittens, snow boots or fuzzy socks (although I do have a soft spot for fuzzy socks…), which have to be piled on or shrugged off based on your surroundings. Summer is ice cream trucks and free concerts in the park, it’s lying on the grass sipping strawberry lemonade, and catching a glimpse of Manhattanhenge, when the sun aligns perfectly with the grid system of the city. Summer is screaming with abandon on amusement park rides, it’s checkered picnic blankets under canopies of green, it’s late night strolls along FDR drive with ice cream sandwiches. Summer is al fresco dining, outdoor movie screenings and kayaking. Summer is bubble battles, and chalk doodles on the sidewalk. Summer is ephemeral, and hence infinitely precious. I’m going to hold on tight to these last few days of sunlit glory while it lasts.

Summer lovin’, havin’ me a blast!