Seasons of the sun

Seems ages since I have written of these - put it down to medicartion and idleness. Still here I am sending my thoughts across world scattered be the wild west wind .

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?

A Long, Long Time Ago

When I was a small baba a big treat was to go on a picnic. We would go out towards Dum Dum, find a green spot and sit and eat from a dekshi warmed over a makeshift fire. No matter how lonely the place seemed within minutes we were surrounded by children curious to know who or what we were.

One of my enduring memories is of playing George Harrison's Within You Without You to them - they understood the sitar music but not the words - in fact the gramophone was in itself a thing of wonder. Desmond sat and sketched and we played rounders. I remember talking with Gail on one of these picnics about how we would have a horse farm out here one day and breed racehorses. They were magic days - as the Cornish would say 'given days' of beauty and charm.

There were other country days - some people owned houses out of the city and we would go en masse to spend the day - still rounders and sitting under trees listening to music.

I remember one day being allowed to drive a jeep by Kalden Dorji - shrieking with delight as we bounced over pot holes. I also rememebr being very miffed that Gail was a natural!

Why is it that we look back on these times as such golden times - ~I remember feeling hot and bothered and yet it still looks like a golden mindscape to me. It was on one of these days that Desmond found Clive's house and mess, another spent on the river watching old Calcutta pass us by and another at Diamond Harbour squelching merrily knee deep in mud. Children in England have their bike rides and days at Alton Towers - I was so lucky to have so much more.