I would have published this post yesterday, but my internet isn’t that fond of me and absolutely refused to work.
It was a friend’s birthday, you see.
And I was asked to finally post something. This post is dedicated to this friend of mine, and is also a selfish and absolutely inexpensive way to say Happy Birthday.
When I first sat down to write this post I had absolutely nothing to say. So after ten minutes of staring at a blank screen I’ve decided to talk about the weather.
It’s five days to the end of November and here, in New Delhi, Winter has almost settled in. Almost.
These are the days of waking up at six and feeling like it’s still midnight. The days of a daily,consummate denial of the fact that you’re going to have to leave your perfectly warm, snug bed and get all dressed and ready for, here comes the horror, school.
Lazy feet drag themselves in the corridors. Hands deeply and firmly dig themselves in the pockets of cozy jackets, and the blazing sun people so avidly avoided just a little over a month ago is adored. Most winter days in Delhi are those with appallingly cold mornings that turn into chilly afternoons of a dull golden color that go perfectly with hearty lunches and unexpected naps.
Winter weekends, for me, are defined by curling up on the couch with a thin blanket and a fat book. Spending entire afternoons on the sunny terrace, sitting on the swing, eating my favorite winter fruit. Oranges.
But this is only possible when I don’t have some test to study for.
Evenings arrive too quickly.
The sky turning dark with alarming speed, the steady flow of people on the street coming down to a slow trickle.
Apart from these, there are days when you see nothing but fog and the color grey, when even stepping outside seems like a brutal punishment. Those are days of reading dead people’s poetry and and watching reruns of old shows.
But they’re not here yet.
Now I’ve run out out of things to say, even about the weather.
Thank you for reading through this post.
Until We Meet Again.