The Smells and Colours of the seasons are a child's delight
The express train hurtled across the landscape - remorseless, uncaring. I sat by the window looking at nothing in particular. Suddenly the sky burst open and unleashed liquid needles of rain on the expectant earth. The root above me rattled in protest as adventurous little drops skipped in through the window on to my lap. And then imperceptibly, I had melted into the six-year old who peeped through the doors of her grandmother's house in Delhi, at the newly baptised world outside, wondering if she would be allowed to play in the rain.Through the rose-tinted glasses of childhood, every season unfolded layers of wonder and promise. In the monsoons, I would revel in a celebration after the first shower. The freshly-bathed trees, shrouded in a dim fairy twilight, held a temptation that was only just stronger than the aroma of pakoras from the kitchen. Resolutely, I would turn my back to the call of the appetite and instead step out into the emerald atmosphere that beckoned. The smell of henna, strange to say, came from every tree that I ventured near! The bold lemon was the only exception. Its spicy odour would travel to my nostrils while I ran a tentative finger along a leaf. Shyly, a droplet would trickle down to my palm and I wou
The vines have been hacked away, the holidays are spent in studying, it is undignified to dance in the rain now. But the child inside me chuckles knowingly. Someday those misty memories will sharpen into vividness, and the splendour of each season will overwhelm me as it did once. It is amazing how the very essence of a season is conveyed simply by the quality of the air. Once or twice, when I had the great good fortune to witness snowfall at a hill station, the very air seemed suspended between Heaven and Earth - like a transparent sheet, with the unbelievably light snowflakes glittering on it. The snow on the windowsill looked like generously sprinkled talcum powder. I pressed my nose against the glass and felt the vapour of my own breath. Drawing back, I observed that there was one misty oval, right in the middle of the pane - the signature of my breath. Summer - the time of hot, dense air and demure breezes. The journey to and from the school was the delight of May, when flowers, wild and cultivated, sprang up all over the place, as if determined to defeat the sameness of the landscape. To date my family has not found out where I disappeared for hours together in the summer holidays. My favourite hidey-hole was a corner of the house where nobody visited. The boundary wall sported draperies of several vines which I could not identify. But the passion flower grew there - so purple, so sweet-smelling - and the air was pure and clear. I would sit th
Some common words found in the essay are:
Paradise Finally, , Heaven Earth,
Approximate Word count = 985
Approximate Pages = 4 (250 words per page double spaced)
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