“Freak!”, exclaimed the gentleman next to me on the Subway, with an unmistakable eye-roll.

The ‘freak’ he was referring to, was a shabby looking man in his late twenties. Matted hair and stained clothes on him, he stood right across from us on the Subway. He would repeatedly do sets of push-ups on the floor, pull-ups from the overhead support, squats and lunges; and would then take breaks to do what looked like a very animated form of meditation, with thunderous rounds of breathing. All this, while people in the subway pretended not to look or were too busy on their phones to notice.

“Summers open this gateway to freak-town”, the gentleman continued to rant as I got up to exit at my destination.

I had made a weekly ritual out of taking myself out to picnics by the lake. My favourite, in particular, was this stretch of velvet-smooth lawns between the Woodbine Beach and the Ashbridge Bay Area. With a flotilla of boats and yachts parked in the bayou-like stretch of the lake on one side, and a pebble beach formation of the same lake on the other side, this was to be my hidden gem for the rest of the summer.

It was one of those early summer days – a slight nip in the air, the sun playing peek-a-boo from amidst the clouds and the water still not warm enough to swim in. I found myself a spot with a view and unzipped my backpack, laying out my picnic paraphernalia on the grass. Next, I took off my shoes, loosened my hair, spread out a blanket on the grass and lay on my back, coiling my hair in a pillow-bun. That was my “I am not moving a muscle” starter-pack.

People-watching takes on a whole new dimension here in summers. You will find them hula- hooping, skateboarding, kayaking, barbequing and doing all sorts of things I find extremely ‘Cool’. Tens of squirrels were prancing around me, looking for morsels of food in the grass. Chickadees, with their relentless chirps, seemed to be singing their happy songs. Bugs being bugs – crawling on random parts of my body, giving me the occasional sting, would make me flinch every now and then. The sound of the waves from the beach behind me lulled me to sleep, in no time.

I woke up hungry, around 2 in the afternoon. I picked up my bag, leaving my blanket behind, to return with some food. Along my way to the coffee shop, I saw happy people in bunches, playing volleyball on the beach, swimming, playing guitar, talking! This was a perfect day, I said to myself.

I probably spoke too soon. Returning to my earlier spot with a bagel and some hash-browns, I saw a middle-aged man occupying my blanket. Grinning ear to ear, to himself, he seemed to be arranging something in his tattered bag. His frayed clothes looked old. Scars on his forehead and dirt on his knees, he looked at me as I approached my blanket.

“Sir, I am sorry…but that belongs to me. I’ll just grab that and be out of your way”, I said to him, very nervously. He stared at me for a good 15 seconds, with the same grin on his face. “Umm…Hello! I just need the blanket and I will be on my way, thank you!”, I tried again. This time, he said something totally random. “You have a story and I want to hear what it is”, he said, looking at me in the eyes.

OKAY!

I did not have the energy to deal with it and needed to eat first. I found a bench close to the water and decided to have my lunch there. A couple of men were fishing nearby. I smiled at them as they looked at me and tried to make small talk. In between my bites, I would turn back to check on the man occupying my blanket, still! He was clearly smoking pot.

He now came right over to where I was sitting. His signature grin glued to his face, he asked me to come see what he was going to do next. I barely managed to say, “I am good actually, thanks!”

I stay put, apprehensive, but actually curious now. He walked over to where the gentlemen were fishing. He seemed to be saying something to them, but that was met with total indifference. The gentlemen exchanged glances and shook their heads. He then squatted on the edge and started throwing stuff in the water.

Feigning disinterest, I walked over casually. There were fish circling around the stuff. I thought he would pull out a fishing rod next. To my surprise, he broke into a song. An embarrassingly loud one at that! And this spectacle continued for the next 30 minutes or so. He was basically feeding the fish and signing to them.

The gentlemen in the distance had managed to catch some fish too, apparently. I heard their banter in between swigs from cans of chilled bear from their ice box. I saw a fish caught in their hook, squirming, trying to break free- only to be put in the ice box eventually. Mission accomplished.

One of these well-meaning gentlemen walked over to where I was now. His ice box still uncovered, I could see the fish and beer cans inside. “He could be dangerous, I would stay away”, he whispered to me about the pothead.

“Freak!”, his climactic declaration came next. I could see the unmistakable eye-roll on the dead fish this time.