The Year-Round Feast of Pancham

Aarav’s eyes lit up. “Sweets? I like this season!”

“This is – Summer,” Baba said, fanning himself. “The rivers get low, the earth cracks, and we crave cold watermelons, mangoes (the sweet king of fruits!), and thick buttermilk. Everyone rests in the afternoon shade.”

Baba and Riya laughed. And the cycle of the seasons—the endless, spinning wheel of months in India—continued its perfect dance.

But soon, the fog lifted. By mid-February, the chill softened. The trees, which had looked bare, suddenly exploded into a riot of colors. Mango trees burst into fluffy golden-yellow flowers, and the air smelled of honey and earth.

“Remember this,” he said.

“India doesn’t have one story,” Baba concluded. “It has six acts in a play. The sun, the wind, and the rain are the actors. And every year, they perform the most beautiful show on Earth.”