Summertime Greens

The last time I was a complete imp was at my grandma’s house in Jabalpur. Mummy, as we affectionately called her, had all her grandchildren over during the summer holidays through the 90s. The bungalow was one of those perfect structures that gave us cousins ample spaces to play and hide in. We jumped, ran and swung from the little bridge arching over the rolling garden till it started to groan and bend. At the end of the compound was a rock waterfall, hastily dismantled one summer when a family of cobras emerged out of a crevice. Our hearts broke when we heard that we couldn’t hang out under the cold stream in our underwear anymore.

The indoors held one prime attraction – a magnificent waterbed covered by a soft green velvet spread that defined my childhood. Sunk cosily into a corner, I would drift off into the world of make-believe. Dolls, jigsaw puzzles, my grandfather’s books and a Mario console bordered my consciousness.  

Afternoons were the most magical time, when the dozing adults were safely out of the way. Lights were turned off and the house was ours. Our mouths stuffed with supari stolen from the crystal jar in the hall, we would stretch out on the green mosaic floor under the gentle spray of the humming water cooler. When tea-time approached we were hauled out onto the terrace to peel peas or perform some other mundane task. Looking back, that was fun too.

Mummy died in 2003 and we all grew up as well. The house was renovated, and I think the waterbed began to leak soon after. But I still carry the feel of the velvet and the coolness of the green room in my memory.