The Human Seasons

"We are too old for all this now"

- "Aren’t we almost the same age?"

"Okay, then I guess I have got too old for this now. I used to get excited at such instances during school days."

- "Do you remember 'The Human Seasons' by Keats?"

A stroke in casual conversations sometimes works like time machine, taking us back in time to experience a moment but with a new vigor, leaving you with a completely new insight.  Guess this comes with age or rather maturity when a situation brings out different meanings at different stages despite words being the same. 

My classroom was always a chaotic place to be in. Folks could keep quiet and pay heed only when a strict (read: one who could lash out to them verbally or let the stick do the talking) teacher entered the class. We had such teachers for English as well, who made us to read the text attentively and solve the exercises. Looking beyond the scribbles of the text was "out of syllabus".  

During the mid-term of standard 8 we had a new English teacher.  It was evident from her first address that it was her debut. The uneasiness in her speech and the Principal's presence in the room made us listen to her attentively.  

The Human Seasons

By John Keats

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;

There are four seasons in the mind of man:

He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear

Takes in all beauty with an easy span:

He has his Summer, when luxuriously

Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves

To ruminate, and by such dreaming high

Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves

His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings

He furleth close; contented so to look

On mists in idleness—to let fair things

Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,

Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

Our new teacher read the poems loudly and gave away explanations with completion of each verse. She asked us to take notes and we had no other way than to oblige. Not that we were obedient but certainly scared of the Principal. She had a notorious way of punishing students and we had experienced all the means up her sleeves and had room for no more. 

As the address was over, the principal looked at the teacher gleefully, though she would smile but seldom in presence of the students. "This is my favorite poem and you explained it with capable examples. The students will learn a lot from you"- said she.  The room burst out into chatter as they left.

"Do you know this is our Principal's favorite poem?" 

- "Heard that.”

"We will recite this to her during our farewell after two years."

- "Oh yes! We shall do it.”

“Is it not too early to plan our agenda for farewell?”

-“This conversation would be derelict in our memories by then.”

“Will we forget each other in some years from now? Won’t we be good as friends like we are today?”

- "No. We all shall join the same college, go on treks and outing, work in the same office and be together forever.”

"But the poem says that we might not want the same things as we grow older. Our choices will change. Things that appear exciting now could appear lack luster then. And the teacher explained with an apt instance, my parents are not excited about their birthdays as I am about mine.”

-"Don't take the poem seriously. The poets write anything. They have no friends to spend time with. But we have."

“The teacher is here for the class.”

Years later, the circle of classmates has shrunk to a few heads with common interests. Most of them set on their journey towards oblivion in our memory, right after school. Some leapt into seasons way too early, settled down with things we deemed for elderly. Some move adroitly with each step perfected somewhat scientifically.  There are others who straddle like an adventurer on treasure hunt, unsure of the destination and the bounty but enthralled by the unexpectedness of the journey.  All of them undergo different seasons but at the same time. Chronology does not define the seasons. Experience does.

“Let’s go trekking.”

-We are too old for all this now"

 "Aren’t we almost the same age?"

-"Okay, then I guess I have got too old for this now. I used to get excited at such instances during school days."

"Do you remember 'The Human Seasons' by Keats?"