Photo by @agnnair, Bangalore, 2010
Spring in Bangalore is a very brief affair. It creeps in through an open window or a gap under the door, and catches us by surprise. It does not announce its arrival with the drumbeats of thunder or the music of rains or the winds of heat or the chill of sunset. One day you switch on the fan because you feel warm, but you keep your blankets on because you feel cold, and then you ask yourself, is it here yet?
It comes in different disguises and makes us wonder if it really is what it claims to be. And before you know it, it has gone out the back door and vanished into the woods. Blink and you will miss it. Breathe in, breathe out, and Spring is over. As though Winter had paused on the doorstep to catch its breath before handing the baton to Summer, and this merry little fellow with flowers in its hair and a sparkle in its eye slipped in where it wasn't normally allowed. As though Summer, just before pouring the cauldron of boiling water over April and May, let Spring have a look around, with a stern warning that it shouldn't break a thing.
Like a spoilt kid, it runs around the house, hands outstretched, squealing, breaking bottles of honey, leaving ripples of laughter in its wake and causing blossoms of all colours to burst open and flutter and blush.
Then Summer storms in like a stern teacher and scowls at the pretty, fragrant mess, and this cheery little bloke chuckles in glee and takes off, leaving behind flowers to grieve and wither and fade and wait for its return the next year.
Blink, and you will miss it.