It's the end of the year again, the month of Christmas, the month of introspection and a cooool month. And I know when it gets cold (trust me), I have been in Riyadh, the city where summer touches 50 and winter drops down to 5 degree celsius, without any warning at all. I remember the time when the swimming pool, that happened to be the play place for 6 months straight - a two hour bath everyday, gets sickeningly cold during the last week of September, left unattended, unclean for a while and is finally drained out in the first week of October. I remember walking into the school to find everyone in navy blue jackets, vapour puffing out of their mouths as they exhale, and find the entire landscape painted grey. The tarred football ground under the grey sky, children covered in sweaters and ear muffins (or whatever you call them) and gloves and 3 layers of socks, Air-conditioners turned up to maximum heat and on a positive note, no stench of sweat, no complaints about the blazing sun or the scorching desert heat - It is a month with a lot of nostalgia, December indeed. And truly - winter rocks! The shivers of Chennai however, came to me as a surprise.
As I wake up everyday at 5 in the morning and let the shower water pour on me, as I step out of my house before even the has set out, as I sit under the cruel air-conditioners of my classroom, as I look at the puddles of water that the Chennai roads are blessed with..... the shivers are not just a collection of nostalgic moments or an escape from a hateful summer. Winter, just as poetic as it sounds, portrays its different forms to me these days. And I don't know whether it's me being too romantic, or whether it simply is that way, but I perceive these forms as different stories.
Until 3 weeks back I used to sleep at 11 pm at night and have never woken up before the clock struck 9. And then all of a sudden my C.A. classes begin and I have to wake up at 5! The half an hour journey is preceded by a cold bath and includes a 15 minute walk on an empty stomach, and not to mention the mental workout that happens at classes. And all through this transaction, what gives me company is the goosebumps on my skin. The coldness tells the story of a challenge in the morning, one that I surpass (except on two occasions where I slept in), with a lot of pride and a sense of achievement. As the wind blows against my face I can hear a buzz in my ear - Go back, get some rest, have a nice sleep. The fan over my head pushes me down every morning, the alarm clock fades off in the backdrop and winter gifts me a beautiful sleep (sometimes I hear the voice of rain splashing against the window... nobody can wake up from such moments!) My story is a cakewalk, but there are those who have to travel thrice as long, bathe in water twice as cold and surpass a hundred times as many puddles as I had to in the morning. And behind all that there is a nasty winter villain, the diabolical mastermind. Can you beat it?
I walked down the subway, folding my umbrella for the moment, enjoying the dryness inside. I looked outside to see the entire pavement drenched, the roads almost flooding and finally turned around and stepped down, where another voice caught my attention. It was a monotonous wail, the voice of a little child, and the child was saying something, again and again and again. Bravely (because I had watched conjuring only a few weeks previously) I reached the foot of the staircase and saw in the middle of the subway a woman sitting on the floor with a naked child on her lap. And the skinny child, she wasn't crying or screaming, she was just saying the same thing over and over again. Just one word that I couldn't comprehend, one word that I don't remember, but I will never forget the voice, that tone. Can you beat that? I walked away from the scene without batting a eyelid, without sparing a coin, drenched in guilt and disgust. The cold that was a challenger, or more like a motivator and an inspirer to some had taken the brutal shape of a killer to someone else. Devoid of food, clothing or shelter, they sat inside the subway for god knows how long. I spare a tear for thousands of others who suffer such a fate, I spend a minute in prayer, hoping that nobody will have to wail like that in the future.
It's the middle of the night and even facebook seems to have slept off, the number of green dots is almost zero (almost). The fan is spinning over my head, which itself is spinning owing to the sleep deprived, mentally exhausted situation I am in. But some blogs cannot be left unwritten, somethings cannot be left incomplete, and the romantic tale of winter is one such story.
The coldness has always brought people together, sometimes physically and if not, mentally. The coldness has brought hearts together, new friendships forged, old ones tightened and the warmth is shared as widely as possible. And sometimes this coldness itself sets off the spark in a friendship, the spark that ignites a blazing fire. This is not fantasy land, this is not hogwarts; this is a story that is happening around us and even within us. The winter bears witness as so many of us slip on the ice and fall in love. Don't be shy now, that fall is just another reason to celebrate.
Love
As I wake up everyday at 5 in the morning and let the shower water pour on me, as I step out of my house before even the has set out, as I sit under the cruel air-conditioners of my classroom, as I look at the puddles of water that the Chennai roads are blessed with..... the shivers are not just a collection of nostalgic moments or an escape from a hateful summer. Winter, just as poetic as it sounds, portrays its different forms to me these days. And I don't know whether it's me being too romantic, or whether it simply is that way, but I perceive these forms as different stories.
Until 3 weeks back I used to sleep at 11 pm at night and have never woken up before the clock struck 9. And then all of a sudden my C.A. classes begin and I have to wake up at 5! The half an hour journey is preceded by a cold bath and includes a 15 minute walk on an empty stomach, and not to mention the mental workout that happens at classes. And all through this transaction, what gives me company is the goosebumps on my skin. The coldness tells the story of a challenge in the morning, one that I surpass (except on two occasions where I slept in), with a lot of pride and a sense of achievement. As the wind blows against my face I can hear a buzz in my ear - Go back, get some rest, have a nice sleep. The fan over my head pushes me down every morning, the alarm clock fades off in the backdrop and winter gifts me a beautiful sleep (sometimes I hear the voice of rain splashing against the window... nobody can wake up from such moments!) My story is a cakewalk, but there are those who have to travel thrice as long, bathe in water twice as cold and surpass a hundred times as many puddles as I had to in the morning. And behind all that there is a nasty winter villain, the diabolical mastermind. Can you beat it?
I walked down the subway, folding my umbrella for the moment, enjoying the dryness inside. I looked outside to see the entire pavement drenched, the roads almost flooding and finally turned around and stepped down, where another voice caught my attention. It was a monotonous wail, the voice of a little child, and the child was saying something, again and again and again. Bravely (because I had watched conjuring only a few weeks previously) I reached the foot of the staircase and saw in the middle of the subway a woman sitting on the floor with a naked child on her lap. And the skinny child, she wasn't crying or screaming, she was just saying the same thing over and over again. Just one word that I couldn't comprehend, one word that I don't remember, but I will never forget the voice, that tone. Can you beat that? I walked away from the scene without batting a eyelid, without sparing a coin, drenched in guilt and disgust. The cold that was a challenger, or more like a motivator and an inspirer to some had taken the brutal shape of a killer to someone else. Devoid of food, clothing or shelter, they sat inside the subway for god knows how long. I spare a tear for thousands of others who suffer such a fate, I spend a minute in prayer, hoping that nobody will have to wail like that in the future.
It's the middle of the night and even facebook seems to have slept off, the number of green dots is almost zero (almost). The fan is spinning over my head, which itself is spinning owing to the sleep deprived, mentally exhausted situation I am in. But some blogs cannot be left unwritten, somethings cannot be left incomplete, and the romantic tale of winter is one such story.
The coldness has always brought people together, sometimes physically and if not, mentally. The coldness has brought hearts together, new friendships forged, old ones tightened and the warmth is shared as widely as possible. And sometimes this coldness itself sets off the spark in a friendship, the spark that ignites a blazing fire. This is not fantasy land, this is not hogwarts; this is a story that is happening around us and even within us. The winter bears witness as so many of us slip on the ice and fall in love. Don't be shy now, that fall is just another reason to celebrate.
Love
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