In the heat of the day:-

I could never imagine that one day I would be tempted to write about the heat wave, the longest ever, we are experiencing in Toronto. Latest update from Environment Canada warns us of daytime temperatures reaching 31 to 34 Celsius to remain through the week. Cooling stations throughout the city remain open until late affording welcome respite.

I have never liked hot weather although there was the long summer vacation to look forward to during my school years. But the heat and dust sapped my energy as nothing else. In our little town we were the unwilling recipients of the seasonal “loo”, a fierce hot wind that started from 12noon and showed no signs of abating until almost sunset, covering all that came in its way in a thick layer of dust.  Months of April and May got the worst of this incredible heat and I still wonder why all three of us girls in our family had to be wedded at this time. Summer holidays had to have played an important role, I am sure. I still remember my eldest sister’s wedding day when the winds were so high that the pavilions could not stay up. So down they came to be strung up with great expediency only when it was safe to do so, minutes before the first guests appeared.

At one time I remember, just after Easter and Holi when the sun was starting on it its journey upward all set to pour its molten rays on creatures “both great and small”,  our school started earlier in the morning.  I am not sure if this is still the case, I hope so for it is better that way.  After the last class my sisters and I were able to reach home just before noon.  With lunch out of the way it was now time for us to retire to the bedroom.  Doors and windows had been shut by mid-morning so that when we trooped in our rooms had been transformed into shadowy havens of cool comfort.  It was time for the mandatory siesta! We opted for the floor so much cooler than a bed with its thick mattress, spread our madur and lay down. This madur was a mat made from madur kathi (reeds for want of a better term) that is cultivated in Midnapore district of Bengal.

Thus it was that we were protected from the heat and never got used to it.

We didn’t want to nap in the afternoon. Which kid does? We wanted to be out, in the garden, climbing trees, doing things that only kids do – hanging out, without grownups.

We did escape sometimes and joined our brother in the garden. He, being the oldest, wasn’t part of this siesta brigade.  Our brother didn’t mind our company.  I have fond memories of learning to use a gulti (catapult in Bengali) under his tutelage and also how to make round balls from mud and sand, left in the sun a few days to be transformed into hard balls, ready to sling from the gulti.  It was by this means we got a good supply of Ber or Bor (Indian plum is the closest I can think of).  Our garden had an ancient Ber tree which bore fruit, to my young mind, almost year round.  This tree was situated in the farthest part of the garden beside a wall that marked the boundary from our neighbour’s garden.  By a quirk of fate the tree had burst through the brick wall thus leaning precariously into our neighbour’s property. We were not about to climb this one for it was rife with thorns but the fruits were tempting. This is where the gulti came in handy.

I still remember imagining the tree was an old woman with a full mane, who never had time to comb her hair, its branches being many and the leaves profuse. She was too busy providing us with her fruits.

When I was even younger I remember my mother reading us wonderful Bengali stories and also singing during those long hot afternoons. The TV and the Tablet thankfully had not made their inexorable march through humanity.

Sometimes I would escape to the outer verandah. Even here provision had been made to retain some of morning’s coolness by means of a thick curtain draped across the wooden lattice that enclosed the verandah.  Through the space between drape and wall I peeped, it was the time when the sun was at its most cruel, and saw long lines of buffaloes meandering through the empty street.  The herder would not be any more than twelve or thirteen years. He appeared perfectly at ease stretched on the back of one of the beasts.  I knew they were off to the pond for a bath.

Now here I am, living through one of the hottest summers in Canada. I’ll never get used to heat and so find myself getting up earlier each day just to be able to walk in the relative coolness of early morning.

When my friends hear me refuse to step out in the heat of the day, they ask puzzled, “Coming from India shouldn’t you be used to the heat.” I say, “It’s a long story. How much time do you have?”

Keep Well…..Keep Smiling

Purabi Das