Ruchira rues that June in North India is unforgiving—oppressive heat, humidity, and power cuts—but mangoes and memories offer fleeting, delicious relief, exclusively for Different Truths.
As January sets in each year, I am gripped by a strange fear and disgust rolled into one, because days will fly away, and very soon June will dawn upon us.
All those familiar with the iconic poet Eliot will remember that oft-quoted line, “April is the cruellest month…” That was in a different age and geographical zone. In the case of ‘tropical’ India, we might as well tweak it a bit to read, “June is the cruellest month…” I am sure everyone will agree with me.
Having lived in the National Capital Region for a major part of my life, I wholeheartedly detest the proverbial Dilli ki garmi…
India’s coastal towns and metros, like Mumbai and Kolkata, are characterised by oppressive humidity during June, but the silver lining in the gloomy clouds is that after sunset, a fresh sea breeze or a semblance of it springs up, making the heat bearable, to say the least. Up here in the north, there is no such relief. On the contrary, as the night deepens, the atmosphere gets stuffy and close… enough to choke you.
For the greater part of my life, I lived in well-ventilated, airy flats and houses fitted with balconies, terraces or both. These helped to reduce the woes of June. Sadly, due to changed circumstances, I was forced to relocate to my husband’s parental apartment. The flat in question was a huge disappointment. Owing to a lack of optimal ventilation. My June woes have multiplied manifold.
To add insult to the injury, the humidity, which is commonplace during June, is almost a killer. You long and pine for the welcome showers, but there aren’t any, and you end up with this sticky business. Profuse sweating, and the stick that follows, is nerve-racking. Add to it the power outages.
Thankfully, most homes now use backup inverters, and the duration of power cuts is lessening.
I vividly recall one horrific incident when, owing to a mega grid failure, the threesome in the family had to spend the entire night sitting or lounging on the spacious balcony (we were in a different place then), swatting hordes of mosquitoes and counting stars in the sky, until the first rays of dawn touched the horizon.
Over the last decade or so, the pre-monsoon showers which usher in the actual season have been playing truant…the monsoon, whose stipulated time of arrival is end June, finally shows up around mid-July. As a result, we spend nightmarish days waiting for the heavens to open like the proverbial “chatak pakshi” (aka pied cuckoo or Jacobin), which (so the folklores and legends believe) drinks nothing but rainwater to quench its thirst. (Rather snobbish for an avian, I feel). However, scientists rubbish it, saying that the bird taps other water sources too.
Nonetheless, June is also the month when summer gastronomical delicacies reach their peak, much to the delight of devoted foodies. It is the season of mangoes! The stores and carts in the markets seem to burst their seams with mangoes. And the variety is immense: langda, chausa, dasheri, himsagar, and totapuri, not forgetting the high-priced Alphonse.
June is also the season of ice cream, whose list of flavours and combos is as infinite as the stars in the sky. The mention of mangoes and ice creams catapulted me into a nostalgic mode: My family had a perpetual fascination (read: addiction) with a concoction. aam doodh kola diye moodi maakha (as my mother called it); it comprises handfuls of crispy puffed rice, pulp of ripe, luscious mangoes, mashed ripe bananas and sugar (as per individual tastes) plus a generous helping of milk (lukewarm or at normal room temperature).
On stifling weekend mornings, this breakfast item meant luxury class and a taste of paradise! Alongside, we celebrated Mom’s birthday in early June with loads of the ‘dessert’ and the king of fruits. I simply can’t imagine my life without mangoes and ice cream!
So, for these delectable compensations, I suppose I can grin and bear the blistering month of June.
Picture design by Anumita Roy
Born in Guwahati and raised across Delhi and Punjab, Ruchira Adhikari Ghosh is an alumna of Sacred Heart Convent, Ludhiana. She holds a master’s degree in English literature from Punjab University, Chandigarh, and a postgraduate diploma in Journalism. With nearly 25 years of experience in print, web, and television media, she has carved a niche as a feature writer. Her writing focuses on women’s issues, food, travel, and literature, reflecting both versatility and depth.
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