The real start of the spring for me is the sight of the first butterfly after the most frigid phase of the cold. A butterfly is the sublime gist of sunrays and flowers. I see the first butterfly on the twelfth of February. It dispels all doubts about the weather. The spring is here. The honey buzzard is seen again. The sparrows, crows and the rest of the birds that consider the village their home raise alarming chorus. The crows take themselves to be the sentinels of the birdie locality. They swoop up and down like angry fighter jets around the enemy object. The big eagle but looks a stealth fighter around which the smaller fighter planes appear the machines of the last generation.
And
there is further hope. A neighbor has painted his little house with the
greenest of the green lime-wash. It can put any parrot to shame. The green
color is forever welcome. The forests and pastures are vanishing, so the green
walls are good for the eyes at least. How I wish they would give oxygen as
well!
Nevaan’s
watergun has also smelt spring. Ferocious squirts of water reach up to a
distance of twenty feet. So I have to run. Spring means one has to have spring
in one’s gait to gallop with the Holi spirit pervading around well in advance,
entitling young kids to shoot down elders with their water shots. After
decimating me with the watery cannon, he is now trying it as a water sprinkler
in the garden. A bad job done quite evidently. ‘How is it?’ he asks. ‘Very
bad!’ I take my revenge. ‘So what? I like it very much!’ he says and targets me
again.
I
have to remember that he is a few months short of his fifth birthday and is grown
enough to take things very-very seriously. He is very particular about wearing
mask in the car and keeps an eye on the speed limit display on the dashboard. A
car and the speed digits signboards are favorite items on the road. A car sign
and 40 means you cannot drive over 45 at any cost. He keeps screaming about the
policeman. He seems a very law-abiding little citizen of the republic.
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