Aahaa Chennai

Inching towards a record high, the sun, donning its shiny apron has begun baking my favourite lemons, turning them out with a burnt top. Hiding away from the intense heat but wanting a bit of the sun's gilt too, a visitor, cautiously spreads wings.

With the sun relentlessly scaling a peak, there's a surplus of mangoes, chikkoos, plus those pearly, white jasmine, flashy, red hibiscus and pink bougainvillea blooms but the one thing, which was missing these past months, has come back in plenty, to offer a peaceful, companionable presence, after a very short spell of rain. We aim to please... they seem to be saying.

It's an extra bright mid-morning with its familiar noises that draws me outdoors and to my surprise, I am taken back... to decades ago, to my school classroom, to a geometry lesson, with a paper, pencil... as I look down below and... gaze up, above.

What was missing in that small patch, was the touch of bright, 'come hither' colour, like that of a florists' shelf. Efforts were doubled... Quality seeds, rich soil, suitable location, best care but the small and usually,  profusely flowering plant, disappointed. Sadly, no flowers at all due to prolonged weeks of intense heat but its sunny, green leaves with their vivacious feel, reached out, to dispel the 'felt-cheated' vibes from curious eyes.

The assignment was long overdue. The deadline was inching near ...just twenty minutes left. Curious eyes watched. They started with the leaves, the buds, the flowers, the branches, the stem, the soil the roots. The walls, windows and the roof demanded it too. 'No, no,' cried the birds, the cats, the dogs and the dainty butterflies but without luck as they were forced to endure. The ever hungry grasshoppers and tiny ants rushed to hide. The Earth loved its new overcoat and wore it with pride. . The raindrops decided to repeat the exercise. The drip-drip sound from the puddles kept echoing through the night. Listening carefully, I could hear the question... when is the next one scheduled? The assignment was marked  'B+' under the watchful eye of grey-hued tutors with the remark... could do better.

Just one look will suffice for even the most demanding of  tastebuds to sing. Not long ago... the piled-up heap, reached out with its mellifluous golden glow, an unerasable memory, savoured by many. The few unplucked ones, out of human reach, are inevitably taken over by wandering, hungry groups - those flying/leaping visitors, their eyes peering at me through thick layers of foliage, amidst an endless cacophony. The half-bitten lumps, hang precariously above or are simply pushed down, donning a "squishy-sandy" coat during the last leg of their journey. The mango tree in my backyard sways crazily to a frolicky  wind, looking contented, after pampering many a hungry tongue, sighing in relief at unloading its tempting green load. A week later,  tender, reddish leaves, perched, here and there, upon  branch tips inevitably draw my eyes, marking the start of a new season.          The mango train is s...

The rain seems to be in a hurry - washing away the tears of  fatigued sand. Little hands cannot be tied down... eager to put down their thoughts and unleash wave upon wave of creative energy. Wet sand... a  fascinating medium that beckons both the young and the old. Nature's stall holds many a treasure.

The intense heat is making the flowers  get smaller and smaller but  the disappointment does not last for long. The fruits are getting  bigger.

A sudden stillness in the air, signals the beginning. Darkness tiptoes in, through the windows, swallowing large patches of light. Thunder rumbles a rackety tune in the distance, with the fidgety crows, trying their best to match it. A cool breeze sprays its unbottled samples of freshness on soft cheeks, now and then. Dark clouds create patterns across the sky, with the sun desperately trying to find a spot. High above, the raindrops wait, biding their time. Dusk enters, bringing  with it, the elegant dragonflies, practising their choreographed moves, at a height. A group of 'we-arrive-before-the-rain' insects, flutter restlessly around a glowing light bulb. The television screen, comes up with crazily changing flashes of light, its mood mimicking those glowing streaks, lighting up a menacing sky. Spells of lighting, now and  then, dazzle the shadows on the sand. The coconut fronds seem busy fighting a tempestuou...

Strike a pose. International Yoga Day-June 21. Imbibing the fitness mantra. Getting stronger. Mind and body at peace.

An unusual evening... At the clinic, the waiting time was around thirty minutes. At the bus stop, the waiting took fifteen minutes. At the billing counter, waiting in the queue lasted ten minutes. At the ice cream shop, the waiting was over in five minutes. Then came a very special moment, which was unveiled early in the evening, the waiting period, for which, has been dragging on and on, for seven long months. (seeming like seven years!) Finally, someone has torn a big hole in the grey clouds, stretching above, for miles, sending down... those 'hard to find' raindrops. I can spot plenty of wet heads and waving hands, coupled with contagious smiles and undiluted laughter. I even see some curious eyes, turned upwards, wondering... 'Rain' shares its bounty in my part of the city.

The noise disturbs the silence of the afternoon. Could it be... something outside or is it my imagination working overtime? That noise again... this time it's closer... the culprit leaps out, bushy tail and all, a busybody, returning several times, with bits and pieces for designing a layered bed. The tale continues... a cosy window nook and a nest tucked away inside, awaiting the endless squeaks of hungry baby squirrels.

Tale of a potent gadget... Its daily output keeps rising plus its enormous capacity fells many. The final products vary... Toasted flowers, browned leaves scorched fruits, scarred trees, sizzling sand, wrung out minds. Its functioning continues, uninterrupted. Some clues ... A gigantic oven. The Sun's Magnum Opus. A heat wave.

The moon drifts afar. White roses mourn; the sun sends  emissaries.

The journey has taken several weeks, interspersed with ups and downs... A sense of wonder coupled with keen interest, some hiccups... the intense heat driving away the butterflies, delay due to tumultuous natural elements, plus a few 'hands on' lessons on the way . A 'one-of-a-kind' journey, with a handful of fragrant fennel seeds.

The deafening sound broke the silence. Something rolled down and landed at my feet. The piece was the work of a very busy artist, holding sway over a pristine blue sky, using  heat-tipped arrows to etch ridges and swirls and singeing rays to affix shades of brown, sending across a message, look upwards... I hold the upper hand. The sun has its say.

They've been looking forward to their release, for days, weeks, months... There's much to be done, large areas to cover... to joyously bounce and roll. Down below... impatience, panic and anger have grown. Up above, imprisoned raindrops are trying hard, to pull away from a force refusing to let  go.

The singer arrived, gazed around at the audience and began a solo performance. The  trilling overhead made the Bougainvilleas flutter wildly. In a faraway high perch, some winged visitors added their contrasting, background notes. The music stopped when the harsh noise of canines on a stroll, struck a jarring note. --------------------- Black Drongo singing - My small, happy world...

Attack! Attack! The target field was vast. It included... roofs and floors, walls and  windows, the soil, the roots, the stem, trunk, branches, leaves, buds, flowers, fruits. Birds turned restless. Water disappeared. The wind joined the attack. A pair of eyes looked down and spotted the very-visible enemy. Heat! A 50-word tale.

The waiting continues... They look heavenward for some signs. Grey clouds appear, vanish... and appear again. A cool wind arrives tickling the leaves, rocking the flowers. Birds screech... the eagerly-awaited event could happen anytime. The buds shout a welcome to bouncy raindrops but the sun above breaks the spell. A 50-word tale.

The blossoms were ready and so too was the colour palette. The colours waited anxiously. The purple and blue were sure of being chosen. The black had faith in its uniqueness. The red had no doubts at all. The pink, white, green and yellow, remained silent and then...went missing. A 50-word tale.

After being cosseted by  tufts of green, the tender rays of the morning sun, brushed by cool air from the water sprayer, turned this way and that by curious birds, tickled by rows of marching ants, pressed against the noses of hungry squirrels, I've finally decided to take a break. A 50-word tale.

White roses grumble. Ugly wrinkles and brown patches. Sun sends 'New-look' kit.