On Winter
People who live in places with seasons don’t seem to me to appreciate winter enough. But ask someone who loves hot chocolate and cosy English pubs with their quizzes and wooden benches and friendly atmosphere (as C. would say, I probably went to the nicer ones), and they’ll tell you the value of winter. Especially if they come from the tropics and know only heat and humidity.
I understand you, I do. I know turning on the heating all day or having just a few hours of daylight isn’t enjoyable. For all my romanticising of rain, I get miserable if I don’t see the sun for two days straight. Being met by sleet and fog or smog for months on end cannot be pleasant. In countries where central heating is not a norm, things are even worse. When G. and I were in Delhi a couple of years ago, we slept on a thick bed under layers of blankets that his cousins thoughtfully prepared for us. In Kathmandu the week before that, I returned from our convivial bonfire through the cold night to a colder bed, and tossed my limbs about trying to get warm; the heat from the hot-water bottle placed there thoughtfully by the staff had long disappeared.
However, when morning arrived and the hills turned golden, all I noticed was the beauty — and how hot coffee would soon be coursing through my veins, as my fingers uncramped themselves to grab a spoon. Thanks to the solar heating system which took its time as the winter sun lazily rode its way up the sky, only cold showers were possible before breakfast. I don’t think I washed my hair that week. I developed new respect for people who live in the mountains all around the world, braving the harshest weather conditions. (Then I went to the comfortable window-seat in the cottage and spun fantasies featuring snow and twinkling lights and fireplaces. Grass, other side, etc.)
Snow presents its own challenges. Gorgeous to look at when it falls, but oh-so-slow when it melts and mixes with the earth, creating a dreadful slush whose dullness competes with colourless skies and leafless trees. Hang in there, though, because you will soon talk of tiny green leaves and blossoms. You will drink in the first day of spring, then dance under blossom-laden trees. And in the meantime, you will delight in the shapes of sparkly snowflakes and inscribe notes on the ground.
As the last of the Chennai “winter” I wrote of yesterday disappears entirely, the humidity is already making itself felt. My longing for cold weather will soon return. We go straight from “winter” to summer in Chennai and know no moderation. None of us can ever really win, but it’s alright, we’ll learn to love our weather.
So, as you snuggle in your rug and dream of tropical beaches, please enjoy this photo from Kathmandu, and let the joy of the happiest creature at the cottage gladden your heart.
