My Childhood Winters

I was in bed, waiting for sleep to overcome me when I realized that I couldn’t be there enjoying another Delhi winters. Well, that’s six more months to go…I can’t predict the future. [I pay professionals to do that, and even they get it wrong most of times.] Still, I get nostalgic and begun reminiscing events before they run dry…coz I won’t find a good time, anymore. No more Winters!

Last year, when I left Delhi amid wintry fog and temperature dipping 2oCelsius clogging the departure board at the country’s busiest airport, I'm stuck waiting 'till they snaps out with some weird comment announcing further delay. I chilled in the corridor munching crunchy roasted poppadam and washing it down with hot cup’cha.

My thoughts drift back to the ol’ childhood days when winters were meant sitting around warm ‘anghiti’ [a coal stove made locally] until the eyes sting and fluff. In the mornings, we put our navy blue trousers, socks and tightly laced shoes that are double-knotted as if we’re gonna lose them! As we run through the crisscross alley of known neighborhood lanes blowing smoky fume from the mouth. Then in faint light of the dusk we play cricket in the street with a hard cork ball that rap on unprotected knuckles…it would hurt like a m*********r.

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories...But, I'm just an artist. I doodle in the margins of notepads; I daydream and lived half my life in a fantasy while the rest spend watching squirrels gathering nuts for the winters.

Now, I’m relocated and there’s no WINTERS or squirrels…by the window sill. I am exhausted.