It was a summer of some year where everything glistened. Perhaps the years gone by always do. Come to think of it I still remember it as the golden years of my life. Years where we shouted our lungs out, laughed as loudly as we could and hated Maths. Oh! That dreaded subject! I could never understand how polynomials would actually help one in the years ahead, when girls and boys would grow up, get married and have children. I mean would you use a Pythagoras theorem to haggle with your local sabjiwaala; and as if he would have cared less. But it was that time of the year when Dadaji would arrive after prior intimation. It was almost as if he knew that our houses would never be in the order that he expected it to be! He was an ex-air force pilot, so I guess he knew the works.
What was most exciting was that he never came home alone. He would perpetually have a man servant trotting skillfully with large caskets of golden jewels; the jewels of the summer season… mangoes!!! Though we never looked at Dadaji’s face, I could always imagine what it would be; roughly so! His huge wrist always wore either a golden or rose gold Daytona, Rolex watch. A watch that glistened in the sun; as he was always a morning person! His face red with the heat, fair enough to be awe struck, dotted with chicken pox marks that were always conspicuous. A short but demanding structure that would have him blast every unorganized soul dig deeper in his jet black shoes than he craning up to see them.
There were a few facts that only we kids knew. If you have a complaint against your parents, never go to him in the morning; or you are in for severe punishment. As the day waned through, his energy levels would be engulfed with a horrible weakness; the television. Whatever you may want to ask at that period of the time was always responded positively. And yes it did not matter then if it was a regional movie aired, or even the local Marathi news going on. A Television in the house was like an aggarbatti.
Every one changed the channel ever so often wanting to get something better than the blessed Doordarshan. When Dadaji arrived with the casket of mangoes, time suddenly went out for a long vacation. It took centuries for the clock to strike 1 in the afternoon. Of course we never counted how many pieces each one of us gorged; much to the displeasure of the household’s daughters-in-law; who were glued to the kitchen, slicing mangoes and blabbering continuously out of utter frustration.
