Sunscreen, Sorrows, Summer by Devika Bahadur
“And then one fairy night, May became June.”
I have always liked that line by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It is the sort of thing you notice only when you pay attention. It is like one day the air changes and the evenings stretch. The light lingers a little longer and you notice May becoming June and somehow another summer arrives.
If I were reviewing this summer as though it were a book, I would describe it as gentle.
It smells faintly of stale sunscreen, fresh laundry, train-station tea in kullad cups and the pages of second-hand books carried in too-big tote bags. It sounds like a group of college friends, way into their adulthood, sending voice notes from different cities and replying three hours later as though no time has passed since.
“This made me think of that one time….”
“Sorry, I was feeding my child.”
“No worries, I was too.”
That sort of thing.
I think every summer leaves behind memory objects. Like a concert ticket you print by yourself because everything is so digital nowadays. Like a receipt folded into a pocket that's been through a washing machine cycle one too-many-times. Like a postcard or a photo you forgot to post. They sit forgotten on desks and drawers and become proof that time has happened.
This summer, unexpectedly, I found myself thinking about a scene from a series I recently watched, in which—
Pitter.
Pitter.
Pitter.
Patter.
Patter.
Patter.
The rain was still falling.
The problem was not solved.
Nothing about the past had changed.
Yet someone stayed.
That was all, someone stayed.
I think we often imagine care as something grand. We imagine solutions, advice, plans, answers. We imagine that love should fix things.
But sometimes it cannot.
Sometimes your friend is grieving.
Sometimes you are homesick.
Sometimes a neighbour is carrying big feelings they cannot put down yet.
You cannot solve any of it, you can only sit beside them.
“I know.”
“I am here.”
“I brought snacks.”
Small sentences and small actions, they matter, perhaps more than we realise.
The older I get, the more I appreciate people who witness instead of repair, like people who do not rush discomfort away. It feels profoundly comforting being seen without being corrected. About having someone quietly recognise that your suffering is real and that they are willing to remain present despite it.
If I were reviewing last summer, I would say it was about becoming.
If I were reviewing this one, I would say it is about staying.
And if I were reviewing the summer that has not yet arrived, I think I would hope for more of the same.
More conversations that begin nowhere and end everywhere.
More evenings that arrive slowly.
More sunscreen.
More books.
More people who choose to hold the shelter even when the rain continues.
After all, if I may, some of the most meaningful acts of love accomplish almost nothing materially and everything emotionally.
Perhaps that is enough, perhaps that always was enough.
Author's Note:
I have many interests, anime, danmei, manga/manhwa, K- and Thai BL dramas, fanfiction and crochet. The choice however can become overwhelming, which explains why I have never managed to make a Spotify playlist and actually stick to it and simply listen to my liked songs. One constant, however, is my love for 2000s Bollywood music. I have no shame in singing along to Emraan Hashmi film songs or KK. My self-care is standing by my window at the dead of the night, phone-as-mic, belting out Tu Hi Meri Shab Hai while moving my hips silly and pretending I am the protagonist of my own film.
Devika Bahadur is a Researcher in Material Culture in the UK. Her research explores masculinity and domesticity in India, alongside queer-fashion in workplace contexts. She is a published poet with works in Swim Press, Nocturne Magazine, Overachiever Magazine and Critical Studies on Security. When not deep inside academic journals, Devika is just as passionate about fanfiction, as both reader and author.
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