The chill is not in the air...

Seasons invoke memories; at least they do to me. Last Sunday, I was lazing around and reading the newspaper simultaneously; when I saw an elderly couple and with a toddler for company in the park beside my quarter, basking in the delicate sunshine. At that time memories of the winters gone by flooded me.

When the North Pole starts its tilt away from the sun on equinox and winter sets in, it feels good to have the sun for company. In childhood, winter was a mix of pleasure and pain. In the morning, any effort to wake up from the comfort of blankets was subdued by the fear of chilled air. It would take many agitated cry from my mother to finally make me get out of bed. Straight after getting ready, I would run with the mat and the school bag to the open courtyard beside our house (actually a field where rice grain is separated from straw, “khala” in local dialect). A sweet spot would be chosen so that earth’s rotation around the sun wouldn’t make shadows of the surrounding trees fall on me, at least for the next 2 hours. Several adjustments would be made to the shawl wrapped around, to minimise the exposed skin. Lessons to study were chosen with the aim to minimise the use of hands to write. In between there would be an obligatory trip to the small fire village elders make and would squeeze myself to get some radiated heat. Before going to school, taking bath in the nearby river was a herculean effort. The sight of water vapour leaving the flowing water would intensify the fear. A jump and a dip in the chilled water would constitute the daily ablution. Lunch breaks in school were eagerly awaited and so were the weekly once game periods. Winter also meant shorter days and that severely hampered the number of cricket matches in the evening. The loss of cricket was badmintons gain. Makeshift lighting arrangements would be made in the evening for badminton games. Winter also bought time for new hand woven sweaters made by my mother and neighbouring aunties. There was an excitement in choosing the colour of the wool from a plethora of options the Kashmiri vendors provided. Intermediate checking of the sweater for fitting used to increase the anticipation for the final outcome.

During the under grad days in Rourkela, winter was time for serious study in the odd semesters and fun times in the even ones. Many fights, arguments and discussion were started on the hostel corridors soaking in the sun and ended with half glasses of tea in the hostel mess at 2 A.M. Some of the cricket enthusiastic would wake up till 5 A.M to catch live action from tours down under.

My first brush with the notorious north Indian chill came in the winter of 2006 in Dehradun and subsequently in Mathura. Winters in north India, more often than not, had the company of near zero temperature and dense fog. The drives to office were a tedious affair in negotiating some slow moving and some immobilised vehicles, considering the paucity of time and poor visibility. Winter also brings the sweet memories of Ramkumar’s alu gobhi paratha in breakfast and Brijwasi’s gajar halwa in post lunch meeting on the lawns beside Mc D.

But this December, has been totally different from the last 29 of my life. Proximity to the Bay of Bengal decreases the intensity of the cold by a notch or two. The happiness, in winning against temptation and getting up at 5:30 AM in cold December mornings, is a little restrained here in Paradip. The only tangible consolations are, having an awesome weather for biking and not repenting whenever I forget to switch on the geyser.

To the friends who are fortunate to exprience nature's extermities, happy winter and enjoy the chill.

rabindra
11-12-2013, 2115 hrs
Paradip