One of the best parts about my home – I realized the other afternoon – is the sun. We get lots of it and of a rich golden colour, the kind baked especially for chilled, winter bones. The roof is now Dada’s ‘daytime-camp’ and the kitties’ playground. Visiting hours start at 9 AM and go on for as long as the sun does his daily rounds. Now, I am not a huge Vitamin D addict, but I have to admit there’s something magical about winter sunshine. And I have been telling everyone about it.
You never know when a storm can brew up in the capital. It may have well been a sunny day, with you actually needing to roll up your sleeves. Come evening and you were sitting indoors planning a nice walk followed by a dinner or something, and voila! you venture out only to find the sky all overcast with scary looking clouds.
Worse, it doesn’t rain. The dust blows up into a hideous mass and leaves scatter everywhere; thunder rumbles with all the might in his sound-production kitty – but the floor of your terrace remains dry. No rain.
A couple walks in the dusty breeze. They are hand in hand, probably new to love.
The momos in the local market (market no. 2 to be precise) run out by this time. Crowds of gossiping school kids gape at how long they have discussed Twilight (and other matters of critical importance) and decide it’s time to attend to their daily tuitions. Shopkeepers rub their hands clean of jhalmudi (bhelpuri’s Bengali sibling) and go back to their grocery or general provisions store.