I was thinking about Calcutta last week - we had a very few hot and humid days and I realised that even my rose tintec spectacles could not dim tha memry of the heat adn the hunidity but we were lucky - air conditiong and swimming pools made the heat bearable. The west wiinds that have come bringing welcome rain made me think of the joy of the monsoon and I went outside and stood under the raindrops soakingin the cool.
The cold weather when it came was time for picnics - out along the DumDum road ooking for a splace big enough for all of us and the chula. Picnics were not cod ham but biriani or chicken curry eaten from china plates with cokes for the childrne and beer for the grown ups. Desmon would sketch the vivied green of the rice paddies around us and the village chldren surroud us asking questions, who were we? Where from? Were we so poor we had to eat outside? We would play them the Beatles and they would fuistly run and then curiousty overcome them they woull cme closed to hear the music.
The rich and the well to do had summer houses out along the DumDum rroad and it was these we would go to as we got older. Still biriani for lucnh but with the run of the house there was someehre comfotable to sit. Games were order of the day: badmiston and rounders with the occsional attmept at cricket - needless to say I sat those out. As the day progressed so did the intakee of beer and about 5 o'clock we would pack up the tha cars and make ou away home to change for an evening at Trinca s ot the Blue Fox.
We led charmed life - punctuated by parties, picnics and racing. Golden time for a gilded youth and wasn't I lucky to be a part of it?
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