It has been almost four weeks since school reopened after the summer vacations, and what a month it has been: a month of two seasons, really, stitched together by one very confused sky.
The first two weeks were peak summer at its most theatrical. High heat, higher humidity, the kind of afternoons where the air itself seems to sweat. El Niño, clearly, was in a mood. I would be outside the school everyday, fanning myself with whatever paper I could find in my bag, watching the children troop in with their water bottles sloshing against their hips. Little Miss would turn back at the gate, wave once, and disappear into the corridor, her ponytail already wilting in the heat.
And then, as if someone flipped a switch, the rains arrived. Not gently, not politely; they came determined to break every record in the book.
But before the deluge, there was a small, bright interlude I must record here: Yoga Day. A few days back, Little Miss and her friends celebrated it at school, and I do not think I have seen anything quite as endearing as a row of tiny humans attempting the Yoga poses. There was wobbling. There was toppling. There was one determined little yogi who held her arms up like branches long after everyone else had given up, chin lifted, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. My heart, I tell you.
I genuinely believe it is important for children to learn some form of exercise early on, and what could be better than yoga? It asks nothing of them but breath and attention. It keeps the mind calm and the body agile and in a world that will eventually demand so much of their attention, teaching them to sit still with themselves feels less like exercise and more like a life skill.
Little Miss was just re-adjusting to the school routine – the early alarms, the hurried breakfasts, the eternal hunt for the second sock – when the rains decided otherwise. The first two days, we braved it. But the waterlogging on the roads looked troublesome, the puddles growing more ambitious by the hour. And then came the alerts: first orange, then red. The schools shut down, and we surrendered, quite happily, to what Little Miss’s calendar would call the rainy day holidays.
Now, forced holidays have a charm all their own. There is no guilt in them, no productivity to chase. We stayed indoors and played our games: the same ones I wrote about in my earlier post, 25 Indoor Activities for Special Needs Children During the Monsoon, while the rain drummed its endless rhythm on the windows. There were bowls of hot noodles eaten cross-legged on the floor, steaming soups that fogged up our spectacles, and long stretches of play time that dissolved the clock entirely.
My Mom, who is staying with us, enjoyed the togetherness too. Though, I suspect the incessant rain tested her patience. She is not used to so much constant water falling from the sky, and I caught her more than once at the window, arms folded, regarding the downpour the way one regards an overstaying guest.
The schools have reopened now. The bags are packed again, but this time with company – raincoats folded on top, umbrellas hooked on wrists. Little Miss marched out this morning splashing deliberately through the one puddle she was specifically told to avoid, and I decided some battles are not worth fighting in July.
Here’s to routines, interrupted and resumed.
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