Tuesday, December 28, 2004
New Delhi, Capital city of a Cacophony called India. Circa 2004, on a cold damp day
The chill is unsettling and touches you in a hundred different place. It leavers you quiet & cold. I feel beautiful in winters. Earlier today, I walked in the drizzle. Such lovely globs of rain fell, all over. I gazed in the open skies. It was overcast & tenderly angry. The rain splashed against my pug nose and ran down my neck. Nature is never unjust. A small street- dog was drenched to the bone, so was an old beggar. Blue drops of rain, so they appeared, danced atop a Mercedes' car as I made my way past a flyover. The drops danced & swayed to a blue tune. People around me looked subdued and hurrying for their homes, to a hot mug of coffee, or a hot hug , perhaps.
The feeling of cosiness in simply surreal about winters. Your long for some heat. A fireplace or a heat blower to warm your spunks. Many a butts are centrally heated in the wilderness of this metropolis. The less privileged huddle on promenades, palms facing the bright fire emanating from a used oil can, stuffed with a little wood, some dry twigs and lots of attempts. Bonfires! Once lit, these crude fires burn for hours -- in gusts & thunder. There is a meaning to this chaos.
A harried sparrow seemed lost in the downpour. A bad, cold world , so full of hatred & a poor little bird.
Summer may bloom the land with flowers & fruits but winter carries romance in its lap. Nature never gets any closer. Rains, winds, lightning & clouds -- the blend doesn't get any better. For every shudder, a warm ring hovers about the soul and for each clatter, some excited hands rub in tandem. Lots of peanuts & butter popcorn.
I'm in my element in this season. Born in relatively cooler climes, I reckon, it comes naturally is me . I can reflect & think, clearer.
The soft rain continued to fall. The world around me went on with its usual pace. Lights, restaurants, new year preparations. A billion resolutions. I walked on.
Here feel we but the
penalty of Adam
the icy fang
and churlish chiding
of the winter's wind,
which , when it
bites and blows
upon my body.
Even till I shrink with
cold, I smile & say,
'This is no flattery'.
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