Into the swing of things ...

My childhood home was surrounded by trees. Five huge tamarind trees, seven or eight mango trees, a cashewnut tree, two bearing lemons, and a bunch of trees that did not produce any edible fruits.

In one corner of this compound was a lovely swing.  A swing with a plank on which two kids could sit or stand.  My brother and I have had countless competitions on that swing--two of our favorites were how high one could swing, and how much farther one could jump off that swing.  And, of course, many of these ended up in fistfights too!

While the swing at home was an outdoor one, grandmother's home had an indoor swing. A swing that was long and broad enough to serve as a bed.  It was in the inner courtyard, which served us kids well because we did not have to deal with the midday sun.  We cousins who gathered at grandmother's home during our annual school vacations have played, eaten, and also slept on that swing.  And, yes, lots of crying at the swing.

Thus, old as I might be, even now I am always drawn to a swing when I see one.

I was swinging away at the local park when a self-appointed righteous citizen, clad in a dhoti, chastised me for my merriment.  "The swing is for children, and you should not be swinging" he scolded me in Tamil as he contorted his facial muscles to produce a contemptuous expression.

Over the past few days, a couple of minutes at the swing has been a part of my early morning routine.  It is my reward for the hour-plus of walking in the insanely hot and humid morning.  After those couple of minutes, I slowly walk back home.

That local guy, who was perhaps no older than I am, perhaps has never had the pleasure of swinging away life's problems.  He perhaps has never experienced the priceless joys of swinging.
There is a pleasure in gentle swinging.
There is a different pleasure in the wild arcs.
Another pleasure with company.
Thrills are different in the morning hours versus in the evenings.
Indoor versus outdoor.
What a joyless world that guy must be in if he has never known such simple pleasures of life!

"It is all ok" is all I replied in Tamil.

That response did not go well with him.

Consistent with the culture of self-appointed righteous citizens, he immediately shared his concerns with two other middle-aged men, who then turned around to look at me swinging.  I wanted to wave a hi to them, but I did not.  The citizen kept gesticulating at my direction as he continued to talk with them and they too regularly turned their heads towards me.  I continued to swing.

I slowly walked back home thinking about the cold, fresh, mango juice in the fridge. I wish I could drink the mango juice while seated on that swing, just like in the old days.