Perhaps the only two things I truly miss about Kashmir are its enchanting snow-capped mountains and the fluffy-icy-shivery snow. It is snowing in Kashmir now. Kashmir
is one of the few places in India where it actually snows in winters. Frankly, few things in the world give me such a kick. Imagine, the feeling. You are cut off from rest of the world. Unwind!!!
There is no electricity. Consequently no watching the TV. No lamps and tube lights. Light thy candles. Fusty style. Re-live the way your ancestors did. It puts to shame all the candle-lite dinners in plush NY hotels and swanky New Delhi lounges. Doesn't get more antediluvian than that!
Think of the magical feeling. White gloss all around -- on your window sills, your backyard and your back-alley. Upon the front-street and snaking turnspikes too. As if an unceasing white fur carpet is spread all over. No potholes. No drains. No runnels. Just running miles of endless, clean snow. Snow that came last night, over night. God has stockpiles of it, I often doodle. It falls on the rooftops and topless rivers. On nests and little chirping birdlings in them. Tweet-tweedle they croon. The downpour continues on the mighty mountains and the lowly grasslands. Across a cross section of an entire landlocked dell. The valley. On its peripheries. Its mass and centre of gravity. God's confetti.
Fantasise the cosiness. Cycling around in the snow. Snow flakes on your nose. On your back. Snow-man. The snow-ball fight. Throwing small orbs of snow on each other. The fun of it. The rush. The pink of cheeks. Rouge of palms. And the quite wintry nights. The eerie silences. The snow-globs coming dancing down from the sky, in hushed whispers. On deer-backs. Upon trees. On defunct electric lines. In terraces. Upon doggy-snouts. On parched humans. Never failing them.
Warm hamams, warmed still by logs of wood. Envy the old world charm.
God. I love snow.