If Mercury were a man inside a thermometer, places I spent my summer vacations would certainly enable him break Robert Wadlow's record. For me summer was the color of the Bougainvillea and the whirring lullaby of the fan. It also meant that I could escape Grandma's strict regime into the collieries where my parents lived. One of our favourite haunts used to be the river Ajoy. Snakes abounded the shallow waters and were patiently hunted by the eagles, while the little fish watched their nemesis being devoured. A proud flash of blue allowed some of the gilled beauties to join Odin's feast at Valhalla. My friend, the humble kingfisher was a pro. Sunset merged the bells of the cows returning home with those of the temple. While such sights and sounds were part of our lives, I suspect that some of those in heaven came down to watch the wonders that the little place offered. Else, why would the sun throw a palette of crimson and yellow at us everyday before it allowed night to sneak in with its invisible blue. It repeated with the regularity at which our souls seek love until the promiscuous rain stirred up the starved earth. The soddy smell of union rekindled the passion that built itself in the cradle of summer's austerity.....and through that love, new life was born.