Adding nostalgia’s warmth to winter chill
Abhilash Gaur

IT'S 6 am on a December morning. I am in my kitchen. Bright yellow patches gleam on the frosted glass: light from the kitchen bulb. I yearn to trace a flower on the misty glass; feel a drop of water grow at my finger tip till it slides down the pane in a zig-zag line... But my finger meets a layer of dust on the window. It's rough and dry. I turn off the light and return to Mumbai.

Outside, the clouds are turning pink. Chandigarh will still be very dark. I can see milkmen put-putting into the city wrapped in shawls and mufflers. Doorbells won't be answered at the first ring. It takes time to drag oneself out of a quilt, pull on a sweater and reach the door.

Office-goers will be visited by the eight O' clock dilemma-to bathe or not to bathe. Well, tomorrow definitely, they'll promise themselves as they hurriedly slip into work clothes. Breakfast will be red hot parathas. There'll be a little power struggle as everybody tries to eat their own before the lone sun-lit window.

Outside the window, a garden patch will be shaking off its slumber. Roses will yawn and stretch their petals with a little toss to greet the breeze. Dew drops will roll down to mingle with their sisters on the grass below. In the kitchen garden, tender spinach, methi and coriander will be sitting up in their beds. Some naughty radishes will be peeping out of their dugouts-perhaps today will be their turn at the table`85

Under the porch, where the sun's slanting rays have lit up a corner, a pair of hands will be hurriedly splitting dark green peas. Cold spray from the pods will make the thumbs tingle. Inside, the pressure cooker's steady hiss will give way to a sharp whistle, spreading the crisp, pungent aroma of boiling spinach. There'll be saag and makki ki roti for lunch!

On the pavement the crunch of peanut shells under footsteps will make hands dive inside pockets. They'll sift through the grit of yesterday's nuts for the tiniest leftover.

A brisk walk in the evening will help shake off the shivers but only for a while. The layers of warm clothing will trap the cold sweat, making every hair stand on end. But a steaming cup and hot pakoras or gajar ka halwa will eventually triumph over the cold.

There'll be aloo-gobhi for dinner and til-bugha to round up the day. There'll be the extra warmth of a shared quilt before the TV and just the drowning smell of raw cotton once everyone pulls their own quilts over their noses`85If I were home now, I would spend endless minutes rubbing my feet together every night just so the cold might leave them. In Mumbai, I go to bed feeling hot after a bout of mosquito swatting.

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