Now that Holi is over, we must steel ourselves for the blazing summer months ahead (though no amount of planning can really prepare one).

Perhaps, as we wait, the memory of spring may sweeten the stifling months to come.

Spring in Delhi is fleeting but extraordinarily lovely (as it is across much of northern India). The winter chill gradually abates until, seemingly overnight, the city is ablaze with flowers. The sky is a bright blue, with a frisky breeze. Even the dreaded pollution takes a backseat.

Now that Holi is over, we must steel ourselves for the blazing summer months ahead (though no amount of planning can really prepare one).

Perhaps, as we wait, the memory of spring may sweeten the stifling months to come.

Spring in Delhi is fleeting but extraordinarily lovely (as it is across much of northern India). The winter chill gradually abates until, seemingly overnight, the city is ablaze with flowers. The sky is a bright blue, with a frisky breeze. Even the dreaded pollution takes a backseat.

The Hindi word for this season is basant or vasant. But I prefer the Urdu word bahaar, because it is such an evocative umbrella term. It means springtime, but also beauty, plenty, the prime of one’s life, resurgence, hope, the bloom of youth, Nature in all its splendour, and so much more.

Along with all this, it implies love, romance and desire.

Over the years, Hindi film songs, always a beautiful mirror to our changing seasons, have celebrated bahaar, in all its shades, in so many happy ways.

In the 1955 film Azaad, a very young and appealing Meena Kumari sings “Dekho ji bahar aayi, bagon mein khili hai kaliyan (Look dear spring has come, in the garden the buds have bloomed),” as she frolics among flowers with a garland in her hair.

Nine years later, in the colour film Rajkumar, Sadhana calls to her lover as she celebrates the season in an extravagantly picturised song: “Aaja aai bahar, dil hai bekarar (Come spring is here, my heart is restless),” she sings, with a posse of girlfriends, all of them twirling about on floral rafts floating on a placid lake.

Sadhana pops up again, in Aap Aye Bahaar Ayee (1971; If You’re Here, So Is Spring). She has a rendezvous with her boyfriend (Rajendra Kumar) in a flower-filled meadow, with snow-covered mountains in the background. He serenades her with the title song: “Saare zamane pe, mausam suhane pe, is dil deewane pe, veeraani si thi chhayi. Aap aaye, bahaar aayi. (There was emptiness everywhere, in the pleasant weather, in my heart that’s crazy for you, the world was overcast. Then you arrived, and so did spring).”

The youthful exuberance of the term was captured to great effect in the song Din Hai Bahar Ke (These Are the Days of Spring) from the 1965 film Waqt. In the song sequence, youngsters vigorously do the twist on a large floating raft, as Sharmila Tagore and Shashi Kapoor sing of their love.

One of the most romantic songs of this season is from the film Suraj (1966). Unusually, it is set on a moonlit night. Rajendra Kumar is in an ardent mood as he sings to Vyjayanthimala: “Baharo phool barsao, mera mehboob aaya hai (Shower spring flowers everywhere, my beloved is here)”. Vyjayanthimala wanders dreamily among flowering vines and lies down on a floral bower, as dancing peacocks and swaying elephants keep her company.

The exact opposite of the word bahaar, incidentally, is the term khizan. It means autumn, but also decline, decay, old age, desolation; a withering of things. Bollywood has some memorable songs mirroring this mood too. My favourite is the melancholy Kishore Kumar number from Do Raaste (1969; Two Roads), in which a lovelorn Rajesh Khanna sings of his heartbreak: “Khizan ke phool pe aati kabhi bahar nahi, mere naseeb mein aye dost tera pyaar nahi (Just as autumnal flowers never see another spring, I too am not destined for your love, my friend).”

My favourite bahaar song is probably the title number from Baharen Phir Bhi Aayengi (1966). In the sequence, Dharmendra is on a train. “Badal jaaye agar maali, chaman hota nahin khali. Baharen phir bhi aayengi. (The gardener may change, but the garden won’t be barren. Spring will still return.)”

Through the rest of the song, the message of hope becomes clearer. Times may change, people may change, but the garden will still bloom again.

So, spring and its flowers may be fading. It may be months before we see them again. But bahaarein phir bhi aayengi.

(To reach Poonam Saxena with feedback, email poonamsaxena3555@gmail.com)