The warmer, brighter summer in India transitions to a rainy, gloomy, pre-monsoon climate around May. Now, what kind of weather makes you happier is a personal preference. However, the transition of the seasons is symbolic of change and adaptation. Yet that a seasonal transformation happens precisely at a particular time of year is a reminder of pristine memories locked in the casket of time.

My Mother’s life was, for the most part, always challenging. Hence, amidst the monotony of her hard life, I acted like the transitioning seasons, always trying to find new ways to make her smile. I remember a particular moment in May; it was the first rain of the season, and I would run outside and play peek-a-boo with her while enjoying the monsoon drizzle. She would see me playing a childish game through her room’s window, her mirror of the world. First concerned, she would shout at me, demanding that I come inside, get cold or fall sick, but looking at my funny naive tantrums, she would giggle and laugh; she would enjoy it as much as I would enjoy the laugh. When I came inside, she would take a warm cloth and rub my hair dry while lovingly scolding and smiling. Later, to treat me with a hot cup of tea. Making her laugh was the only satisfying feeling I have ever felt.

Now a relic, that window holds a single strand of her silvery grey hair, the last remnant of her physical form. And for a few years since her absence from this world, I haven’t cleaned that window, though it may seem foolish and unclean. That window is a portal to my memories with her. And even now, when the Sun plays peek a boo hiding and showing from the clouds, her hair shines golden, like the flickering filament of light trying to illuminate the darkness. Somehow, in a more ethereal way, still trying to play that naive game.

These memories are very dear to me; they make me smile no matter the circumstances. May brings a season of change, the first rain, invoking feelings that are deeply associated with my Mother. They appear repeatedly within the loop of time, again and forever. Also, coincidentally, the story narrated above happened on an extraordinary day—Mother’s Day.

Dedicated to my dearest, sweetest, loveliest mommy on Mother’s day.