Many winters ago when life was young, one misty morning I came back from my walk, rubbing my hands, and trying to circle my breath. It seemed an innocently delightful thing to do; breathe in, breathe out and watch your breath travel.
A couple of winters ago, I sat by my window one evening, and could barely see the leaves of the Ashoka tree outside. It was dark, silent and still, the way winter evenings are. I could hear a car in the distance. I looked up at the sky, the moon was barely visible. I started humming a hauntingly romantic song from Pakeezah , “Chalo dildar chalo, chand ke paar chalo”. And soon realised my acutely limited singing ability did nothing to improve upon silence; the silence of a misty evening when the best place to be in is at home by the window. Or maybe stand in the balcony and realise the world is not hurrying by. Out on the road, driving becomes hazardous, visibility is reduced to barely a few metres. And cars’ headlights resemble a little beam in the dark. The scene is repeated by the roadside. When you cross a road, you stand and stare; see nothing. It requires a mix of experience, sixth sense and luck to see you through to the other side. On the other side too, there are just a couple of stray dogs and maybe a man or two covered from head to foot, walking towards, what seems like, infinity. Ah! The joy of the mist, the challenges of the fog.
At the railway station, at the airport, the fog envelops us all. Trains are delayed, flights are cancelled. Many fret, some fume. Children, however, manage to see the sunny side of it all as they dash off to school, carving out their own path.
A handful though go for a quiet walk in the neighbourhood park and soak in the joy of the moment; that time when they are in public space yet retain their privacy. That little island of peace and quiet; even the birds seem to stay away at this time. Yes, foggy mornings, misty evenings, long and still nights; it is that time of the year when even Delhi goes into leisure mode.
