With the laburnum trees in bloom, one is reminded of these lines from Thomas Hood who, as an old man recalled that the tree planted by his brother on his birthday “was living yet” but went on to lament “And summer pools can hardly cool the fever on my brow”. The poet was talking about summer in England, a pleasant time there. But another poet, less pessimistic waxed eloquent thus, “The cuckoo sings in April, the cuckoo sings in May/The cuckoo sings in June/ in July she flies away.” Here in Delhi we have the koel calling from mid-February till the end of the monsoon, though summer pools, such a feature of Mehrauli, Najafgarh, Mayapuri and the Ridge area are now dried up water-bodies which have long ceased to cool the brows of the heat-stricken.
Like pools, the baghs laid out by the Mughals have also suffered from the spread of modernization, with Shalimar Bagh, Qudsia Park and Talkatora garden more or less neglected, though the Lodhi gardens are an exception. Yet there were times when the shairs went ga-ga over them with verses like: “Qudrat Khuda ki dekhiye/Phalon ke bagh mein/Paiband phalse ki lagai hein anar mein.” There is another version of it drawing comparison with the female bosom which obviously cannot be quoted. But still God’s bounty is there despite the scarcity of phalse and pomegranate trees. As a matter of fact, most of the anars sold in the Capital are imported, even from as far away as Afghanistan, and phalse (whose season is just from May to early June) come mostly from Agra.
Yet some summer delights remain, like cool water from Imamuddin’s ‘mashak’. He is one of the fast disappearing tribe of bhistis. At 65, Imamuddin is a lonely man who finds himself out of tune with the times. He offers you a bowlful of water from his mashak (waterskin) with medieval grace, inquiries about your welfare and exclaims, “Alhamdu lillah” (Praise be to God) with old world courtesy. He will accept anything provided you have enjoyed the drink. Like the Mir Sahib who once left an expensive ring in his copper bowl. In May and June it’s melon time again and the bazaars are laden with the musky fruit. Melons are grown in the sandy soil of the Yamuna by Malis, Kathchis, Mallahs and Sheikhs who migrate to Delhi every year from Shahjahanpur and Bareilly. They take the riverside fields on contract as early as March and prepare the soil for cultivation. Melons need heat and the scorching “loo” to sweeten them. The first monsoon showers end their season. Melons have been the subject of song, poetry and legend. Babar was fond of them because they reminded him of the cool vales and streams of Kabul. The melons parties of Wajid Ali Shah, the colourful Nawab of Lucknow, have passed into legend. And in Delhi the puppet Moghul Emperor, Jahandar Shah, bought all the melons on sale on a summer’s day after he had married Lal Kanwar, a dancing girl, whose best friend, Zohra sold the sweetest melons.
With summer at its peak, the cry of the “ittar-farrosh” is still heard in the old city. The ittars are mostly made in Kannauj (U.P.), Khas and Rat-ki-Rani are the ones in great demand as they are supposed to be very cooling. One night last week as one walked through narrow Matia Mahal one heard the perfume seller cry: “Ittar leh lo.” The cry seemed to find an echo in the blind beggar boy who roams the street and she started singing with great emotion: “Gul mehboob ko pyara hai, Mehboob ashiq ko pyara hai/Magar tujhe tau murjhai phool, Chaman se zyada pyare hain”. (The rose is dear to the beloved the beloved to the lover; but to the perfume seller the crushed petals of the rose of yesterday are dearer then the whole smiling garden).
The Mughal emperors, especially Bahadur Shah Zafar and his friend Ghalib, were fond of melons and mangoes cooled in buckets of iced water. They ate them in the Sawan-Bhadon pavilion of the Red Fort before taking shelter from the hot sun in the Rang Mahal through which and the Dewan-e-Khas flowed water in an aqueduct. The afternoon was passed by the princes in sending paper boats with messages of love to their beloveds in the zenana. Some of them cooled themselves in the shahi hamams. At night boats were tied in the Yamuna so that the royals could sleep in the cool breeze flowing over the water. The practice started in Akbar’s time in mid-16th Century, continued till the reign of Mohammad Shah Rangila (1719-1748). That was also the time when melodious songs were sung by the maids of honour for princesses who spread out their tresses to cool in the east wind known as the purva. A film song harks back to those times, with those romantic lines: “Jaron ki naram dhoop aur garmiyon ki raat…purvaian chalen” (the mellow sunshine of winter and summer nights when the purvaia blows).
There are no princes and princesses now and no boats are tied in the Yamuna at night. But still people face the travails of the hot weather with the aid of cool drinks, juicy fruits, ice-cream, kulfi, phaluda and, of course, the comfort of electric fans, desert coolers and air-conditioners. The poor pass the afternoons under shady trees and the nights under the open skies, despite the annoying mosquitoes, which however are blown away by the early morning breeze (nasim) that gently lulls them to sleep till dawn.
