June

June is a befuddling month.

June means I have to say goodbye to the sweltering summer heat, a task that should have been easy if it weren't for the fact end of summer equals fewer milkshakes and ice-creams. It is the beginning of monsoon, of grey clouds wresting control of the sky from the sun, of incessant rain. And when I'm not careful, it is also the month of phlegm-choked windpipes and Asthalin inhalers.

End of summer marks the end of gorging on mangoes, its juice dripping down my chin as I try to lay a claim over the I Ate The Most title.

And of course, as a school student, June is the month when all the fun and frolic ends. It's time for a new year in school. Cue groans and sighs and the constant refrains of why does time fly past so quickly? That's from the kids, obviously. Parents are probably sick of kids turning households upside down during the two months of Yay, no school!

June says it's time for me to get my lazy ass out of the couch and allow my PC – which hasn't seen much shutting-down during the summer vacations – to rest. It is the time when I have to reacquaint with a long-forgotten and not-at-all-organized schedule of getting up at 6 in the morning and sleepwalking through the next two hours until the school-bell screams shrilly into my ears. Then I have to try and stay afloat in the flood of equations, theorems, laws, principles and what not.

All this while the sky refuses to remove its grey make-up, despite the colour making it look pallid. It's dismal, and the feeling permeates into everyone beneath, passing on from one person to another like the common cold.


Yet June is the month of rebirth, of freshness, of new beginnings.

After a spell of rain, the leaves look greener, the flowers brighter, as if they were freshly laundered clothes. The smell of wet soil is everywhere. I can hear the frogs croak, the birds chirp, the buzz of all the weird insects that seem to appear only during this particular season.

Puddles are annoying, especially when vehicles speed up over them and splatter me with mud and rainwater. But they serve as reminders of days long gone when I spot six/seven year-olds making paper boats and let them afloat. I see understanding blossom in their eyes as their parents try to explain why paper boats float but their gotti (marbles) sink in the puddles. A snarky voice inside me says, Wait for it, kiddos. Buoyancy and Archimedes' principle will attack you in a few years.

And as much as I complain about yet another year at school, I can't deny that June is a month of starting afresh. New classrooms, new teachers, new books, new avenues of knowledge. New students, new acquaintances. June is the month of promises of turning over a new leaf, promises which seldom last beyond two weeks.

June is dull yet bright. June is dreary yet pretty. June is moodiness, yet it inspires.

Maybe that's why I hate it, but also love it.