In a distant land, on a hot, dry day, my thoughts wander to younger years. I would return home from school around 3 pm, preoccupied with thoughts of playing. What would follow is a battle of wits between mother and me. She would like me to stay at home until the afternoon has mellowed and the Sun isn’t scorching hot. I was of the opinion that the Sun is too trivial a reason to stop me from playing. Usually mother had her way.
But sometimes I would cheat. Upon reaching home, I would slip my fingers into the crack between the window shutters, open the window, throw my school bag in, and run. The bag always landed on the bed mother used for sleeping, so she would wake up and shout after me “come back, it is too hot!” That 12 year old Gurdas could not have cared less. In fact, I’d be running as fast as my legs could go and probably be out of earshot by the time mother would wake up.
Today, I can hear her voice playing in my head and notice how much love there is. I wish my mother was around to scold me for that too is laden with love. She is old, her skin has wrinkled, and old age has settled in. But mother, this son of your is a kid who wants to hear your voice, feel your caress, plant a kiss, and get wrapped in a hug. And mother, June is still hot and I still want to run away. Only this time I want to run to you.