Come summer, the Gulmohar colours the world a striking shade of red. My wondrous heart, is often drawn to it. I instinctively pick the bounties strewn beneath it, reliving moments of the childhood. The Gulmohar is inseparable from memories of summers. Since both my parents worked, almost every summer my brother and I were packed off for a 2 month vacation to our native place. We'd reunite with our cousin and the trio would then hop across relatives for the next 2 months. The vacation mostly began with my mom's parents. They lived in a not-so-little house on the outskirts of Belgaum; which, for us excitable kiddos, was a huge place away from the city, with lots of space to play. A few feet from the porch, you would be greeted by this magnanimous Gulmohar with a chabutara (sitting platform) around it. We would play our games around the tree; my grandfather sitting on the chabutara, discussing the news of the day with his friends. My grandmother wove the days together; plucking t
n life as i walk on em