Winter

Winter

We know its winter when sting-chill of cold air freezes our hand; a calming blanches of silence presses upon the cityscape; hanging smog creates a white hiatus. The happiest time of the year that lasts a little too long, the days that extends just a little too short a little too quickly- and then seem to stay there indefinitely. The winter of young souls, of freshness, love, youth, romance. The faded shades of leaves rustling in the mild wintry breeze take on the pallor of the season.  The houses remain tucked away behind a protective layer of Gulmohar, Mango and Eucalyptus. This time of the year is covered with colourful vibrancy of youthful music and the sound of guitar strings by the bonfire.

My first memories of winter are woven with various shades of red, blue, yellow colours in the streets of Kolkata. It’s my hometown in the eastern side of the country where winter is pretty cold. All shiny, colourful sweaters, pullovers, jackets and blankets are brought out of the closet.  It’s the onset of the season when vegetable sellers lay a beautiful spread of fresh and exotic vegetables. The time is usually December, January when people go out for long drives in the night along the well-lit, decorated lanes of Park Street. The nights signal the hour to spend quality time with old lovers, the time when all quarrels have to be put to rest. The afternoons are meant to be enjoyed by the caresses of the mild sun. Kolkata's winter taught me the language of heart and expressions of dreams.

Now many years later, in Mumbai, winter is a tad different. Here the drag of winter collapses under the weight of life. The beauty of the serene Arabian sea, cool natural air-conditioning breeze cannot compete with the charms of its raging life-force. It seems at once romantic and short-lived. The mystical winter days here seem more real, concrete and weighty as if it's here to give more stamina to push ourselves even harder to our tangible goals. It’s a fleeting season here, rooted in reality.

Meghna Maiti