Spring is fleeting in the hot and dusty plains of Northern India. Nevertheless, it makes its presence felt in the blooming of flowers, new green thrusting out of the trees. In front of my new residence, the teak trees sprung new leaves, the rose bushes all sprouted in full grandeur, especially the white one. The pinks, reds, blood reds, the orange and the miniature rose, apart from several others. Discovered the wee, small and frisky purple sun bird and another rather unusual bird with red and yellow coloring on its head but the rest being the same brown as the trees. The coppersmith barbet, as my dear friend informs. And the brahminy mynah, the robins and sparrows. A whole family of parrots are resident in the huge neem trees outside.
"Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night."
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
Baby parrot fell, couldn't fly. Mrs B carried it in. Grew a single tail feather. That one fell off. Grew new tail. Miss B has now become rather fond of it but we are determined to let it fly away once the rains come.
Baby falcon fell. Same story, until it was rather unceremoniously handed over to the keeper of the greens.
And then, it was summer. Before one could realize, it was hot as the baking oven. Temperatures that crossed 45 degrees C. And no sign of the rains. Rains, as in Mumbai, sustained, overpowering, invasive rain that takes control! But these are the northern plains outside Delhi which the rain gods have decidedly overlooked this year.
The third movement from Summer, from the Four Seasons by Vivaldi, the strings faithfully mirroring the harsh and extreme weather. Or is it rather, the state of the mind, finding itself alone in a sea of conflicting emotions, trying to tear itself away from its moorings in search of the elusive unknown!
When there's no one outside in the afternoon, I have sometimes found an undescribable happiness in the searing heat of summer, when smoke appears to be rising from the deserted roads and not the slightest movement in the trees, not a soul stirring but my unquenchable thirst in a world that appeared to have come to a dead stop in all finality.
Slowly, imperceptibly, the heat washed away as night fell.
"Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night."
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
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| The elusive coppersmith barbet, Faridabad |
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| The purple sunbird, Faridabad |
Baby parrot fell, couldn't fly. Mrs B carried it in. Grew a single tail feather. That one fell off. Grew new tail. Miss B has now become rather fond of it but we are determined to let it fly away once the rains come.
Baby falcon fell. Same story, until it was rather unceremoniously handed over to the keeper of the greens.
And then, it was summer. Before one could realize, it was hot as the baking oven. Temperatures that crossed 45 degrees C. And no sign of the rains. Rains, as in Mumbai, sustained, overpowering, invasive rain that takes control! But these are the northern plains outside Delhi which the rain gods have decidedly overlooked this year.
The third movement from Summer, from the Four Seasons by Vivaldi, the strings faithfully mirroring the harsh and extreme weather. Or is it rather, the state of the mind, finding itself alone in a sea of conflicting emotions, trying to tear itself away from its moorings in search of the elusive unknown!
When there's no one outside in the afternoon, I have sometimes found an undescribable happiness in the searing heat of summer, when smoke appears to be rising from the deserted roads and not the slightest movement in the trees, not a soul stirring but my unquenchable thirst in a world that appeared to have come to a dead stop in all finality.
Slowly, imperceptibly, the heat washed away as night fell.
Yay! My heart does a little jig when I see you have posted. A new dwelling. It sounds as if it suits you well - love the idea of bamboo trees and so many beautiful birds right out your door. Worried about the babies and very glad you and Mrs B are there to keep a watchful eye out for them......love your description of the heat, but I, too, hope the rains will pay a visit. All over the globe, everywhere is getting hotter and drier - not on the Island yet, but in other places in the province, wildfires are burning, some of them very close to residential areas. Nice to see you, my friend. I am still glued to my desk. At Poets United, I frequently interview poets from India. I am so drawn to the beauty of your country and its rich history.
ReplyDeleteGood to hear from you Sherry. But I am not really a poet. One does not need to, with so much poetry that abounds around :)
ReplyDeleteThat's actually a baby teak that shed old foliage turned crispy brown and bursting out in baby green
Thank you once again!
This post is so beautiful, in so many ways! First, the pictures of the iridescent-colored birds. And then, Vivaldi, as played by Julia Fischer. Finally, your description of the summer heat.
ReplyDeleteThanks for providing a soothing summer break!