My fickle friend

There are few things which match the exhilaration of getting to live through something you had only imagined…like a favorite song or something an author wrote in a dearly loved book .You know, the “aha” moment when you see what exactly the author/poet/lyricist meant. Half the joy is of course in being proven wrong ‘coz our cynical side will never let us completely believe in anything we consider beautiful. We immediately think there must be a catch- a pretty lady must be dumb or flaky, a beautiful verse was just someone’s imagination, and not something based on experience; a tender story made to fool gullible little hearts…

Such a moment happened to me recently. Though some people I know claim that its just talk and not much singing, I have always loved the songs of Frank Sinatra .I remember college days when I carried my red tape-recorder around our house and played his songs as I sat, lost in sweet reverie. Those years I lived through love songs and dried roses kept in old diaries. I don’t remember actual events as much as I remember moonrises over the lake or waltzing with an imaginary partner to the tunes of Dean Martin and Nat King Cole. Things which are part of your growing-up…they never cease to charm you… not just because of their inherent nature, but also due to the fact that they remind you of parts of yourself, now forever lost.

There’s an old song called “Summer Wind”. Sinatra sings it in a careless way…and it remains one of my favorites. It has a tune which stays with you…but I was ensnared by the line-“And guess who sighs his lullabies – through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind”

The last few days have been very windy. The sun shines brightly but the wind makes you squint and messes your hair up. Yesterday morning, the trees swayed as if wrestling from the embrace of a violent lover. But we didn’t have time for nature’s tantrums. We were on our way to work. Everyday we cross the bay on our way to work. I am pretty sure the bay is never the same shade of blue two days in a row. It is as if the bay has feelings of her own and she makes no bones about showing it. Yesterday,thanks to the high winds, she was choppy with foamy waves as if she were slightly annoyed. We drove on. Even on our way home in the evening, our car shook on the bridge. It was as if the wind couldn’t decide which way to go. But it was in the middle of the night when I woke up to the sound, like someone sighing-it was the wind in the branches of the tree outside our bedroom and I realized what  exactly Frankie meant…that favorite verse from my dear old song-

“And guess who sighs his lullabies – through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind”

The summer wind is fickle and a little wild. It seduces you with the fragrant smell of fresh blossoms and is cruel to the little birds trying to fly homeward. But in all that, it remains your friend.