If Bangladeshis romanticised summer like winter

In a parallel universe where summer in Bangladesh is shorter than its winter, but everything else — the land-grabbing, the struggles faced by women, the traffic and pollution — is the same.

The migratory birds that had been successful in evading the local poachers' eyes packed their belongings and left. The trees are alive again, their crowns filled with leaves. The jackfruits, the mangoes, the litchis – they all were smiling as they hung ceremoniously from the branches of the rejuvenated trees. The tin sheds were hot like sizzling pans; if a bird landed on it, it'd be fried in no time. The car roofs glistened. It was summer again.

10 AM

It's a holiday. Estha wakes up triumphantly today. He recalls the days when he would need to set seven alarms to ditch his tiger-print blanket and stand on his feet. The chill in the air is gone. The sun is shining ardently. The running water doesn't seem to be something repulsive. No one in the household is wearing sweaters or socks. No one is shivering.

10.30 AM

Estha is excused from having to eat the regular bhapa pitha and the other sugary delicacies whose smell reigned over every household before summer arrived. His social media is littered with everyone sharing joy. Some are posting photos of the morning sun, captioning "summer is here." Some are posting photos with the same caption wearing half-sleeve shirts, shorts, and basically any sort of clothing that doesn't involve wool.

Manju uncle is the only one seemingly upset about the season. He thinks he might get a tan soon enough. He is one of those people who will be ready to cut off ties with their kids at the drop of a hat if their kids do not marry someone with fair skin.

12 PM

The conflict minerals in Estha's DSLR are ready to work their charm. He slings the camera over his shoulder and sets out to capture the summer sky and almost everything under it.

Outside, everyone is sweating and the drastic shift in wardrobe is a testament to skyrocketing summer clothes' sales. The mango carts are mushrooming throughout the neighbourhoods like shooting marbles. Everyone has awaited them. Now they are here; raw, ripe, green, yellow, big, small, formalin-induced, and formalin-free mangoes.

4 PM

The streets, the alleys, and the fields are alive with kids and teens playing sports. They aren't wielding badminton rackets anymore. The racket, net, and shuttle cock sales have plummeted; the badminton courts' existence has been forgotten. Cricket and football will rule for as long as the summer breeze blows.

7 PM

Estha returns home with a heart that is content and a camera full of images that'd soon be uploaded with summer-related punch lines. He finds out he has no biyer dawaat to attend to. He is relieved. This is the only season, although a short one, when most people wouldn't get too excited to get married. And the potential guests would be graced from having to attend all the wedding functions. He also finds out that he has 15 days off from school as summer vacation. He breaks into excitement and subconsciously plans sleepovers and trips with his friends. He would soon be one of those people who simply go about planning spontaneous trips.

For now, he finds solace in the fact that his hands won't turn frosty whenever he washes them and bathing won't require him to be hesitant.