A Summer Afternoon

by Deepashri Barve

[box]Deepashri Barve fondly recollects the summer afternoons of her childhood which meant she played games of kings and superheroes with her older brother. Little did she know back then that the games and the little fights would bring back fond memories later.[/box]

It was a hot, summer afternoon. I remember the shades were drawn and the fan was at full speed trying to cool the room down, but all it did was to blow more hot air. I hated those kinds of summer afternoons, because it meant mom wouldn’t let us go to the park or to meet our friends.
“Let it cool down a bit,” she would say, “find something to do at home until then.”

It also meant that I would be stuck playing the same game again with my older brother. He was nine at that time, and was convinced that only a game with kings and superheroes was worth playing. That particular summer afternoon was no exception. My brother tied a beach towel around his neck and threw his cape in the air as he mounted his imaginary horse. He was the brave and noble Hindu king leading his army to capture the evil king aka his little sister.

“C’mon, run, I am coming for you,” he called, stepping out of character, just before he kicked his horse.
“Why can’t I be the good Hindu queen?” I protested.
“Because I am already the “good king”. Every story needs good and evil. Now, run,” he retorted quickly.
We ran around the living room a couple of times until his horse caught up with mine.
“Why do you always get to win the war?” I protested again.
“Because I am the good king, and you are the evil one. Don’t you know any history at all?”
Leave aside history, all I knew was big brothers got to make all the rules, and little sisters had to be evil kings.
Now that he had won, my brother walked around the living room, waving to an imaginary crowd, which had gathered there to watch his victory parade. I must say, as mad as I was, the victory parade always made me giggle.
“Do you want to get some lemonade before we go for round two?” .
“Aaargh…. I don’t want round two,” I groaned. “I don’t want to be the evil king anymore.”
“But you won’t be…remember, in round two, you are a British officer. I will be the Indian farmer who leads the revolution. C’mon, drink up, you need lots of energy for the fight.”

So the fight began, pillows flew all over the living room, followed by toys. Then came books, which were deadly grenades filling up the air with thick smoke. I remember sneaking in a smile and suppressing a laugh before I went back to complaining about being the “bad guy” in every version of the game. Ignoring my protests, my brother gestured to me to hide behind the sofa. I was determined not to let him win this “war”. We tried to get our hands on anything to use as ammunition for our “war”. I grabbed a tennis ball, and pretended to bomb his platoon. My brother got a long cucumber from the kitchen and swerved it like a sword, rallying his troops for the final round.

We were running all over the house now, carefully dodging mom’s beautiful vases and hurriedly tiptoeing past grandma’s room. Amidst all the war cries, my brother raised his “sword” to capture the British officer, when the ripe cucumber broke into two and plopped on his head, with the cool green juice dripping all over his forehead. I looked at him, not sure if it was okay to laugh, trying hard to control my hysteria. He stood there quietly cleaning the juice with his cape, before both of us broke into peals of uncontrollable laughter. There was mushy cucumber on the floor, and pearly seeds on his face. Amidst the mess, we called truce and finally finished the game.

As it began to cool down, everyone began to trickle out of their houses, with children gathering in the alley for a round of soccer or a game of cricket. I got ready to go to the park with mom. I was glad the afternoon was over, relieved that I didn’t have to play another one of those annoying games. Little did I know, those times spent with my brother complaining about all of his made up games, would make up some of the best memories I have about him. Thank heavens, for hot summer afternoons! Without them, childhood, today I realize, would have been so bland.

Deepa is a recruiter by day and a writer by night (she hopes to be able to switch that around, someday). Writing is a means of communication for her and a way to share experiences and connect with others. She is currently working on her blog http://loveworklive.wordpress.com which explores the connection between business and personal relationships.

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