Winter is coming

And I could not be more delighted…

 

Growing up in Calcutta, I was always overcome with excitement when the shiuli tree near my house started flowering. That was the first sign that Pujo was coming, and that four days of festivities were in my immediate future. These days I live in Delhi, and there is no shiuli tree to remind me of the arrival of Pujo. But all is not lost. There is an enormous Saptaparni (also known as Alstonia, or even Devil’s tree) tree overhanging my balcony, whose flowering heralds the beginning of winter in Delhi.

 

Last night, as I returned home late after dinner, I was stopped in my tracks by a heady scent that told me that, yes, winter was just around the corner. Notwithstanding the late hour, I stepped out on my balcony, and settled down on my wicker chair, just breathing in the sweet perfume of the flowers. For me, that is the scent of the Delhi winter, the season that I long for all year round. 

 

Yes, I know, Delhi winters are not what they used to be. There is the ever-present specter of pollution, as the farmers in neighbouring Punjab set fire to the stubble in their fields in what has become a depressing annual ritual. The Diwali crackers – set off by idiots who clearly have a death wish – only add to the horrific miasma hanging over the city. Combine this with vehicular pollution and the cold weather which makes all the pollutants sink to the bottom of the atmosphere, and you have a perfect poisonous cocktail that can take years off a person’s life.

 

I know all that. And God knows, I suffer with everyone else, perhaps even more so because of my chronic asthma that is triggered in this season. But, but, but…on the rare occasions when the skies finally clear and the haze fades to expose a clear blue sky, there is nothing quite so beautiful as a crisp winter day in Delhi. 

 

So, what’s the best way to make the most of days like these – especially given how rare they have become?

 

Well, for me it all begins with a winter special breakfast. Crisp aloo parathas, smeared liberally with homemade white butter, washed down with cups of milky tea, all served on the corner of the balcony that gets the morning sun. It’s hard to get any work done after that, because, food coma. But honestly, it’s well worth taking the morning off to indulge every once in a while.

 

Other winter staples make an appearance at lunch and dinner: aloo-methi subzi, sarson ka saag, makki ki roti, bathua raita, and so much more. This is the season to indulge your taste buds, and to pile on an extra layer of fat to deal with the cold winds of winter. 

 

Talking of layers, this is also the season to air all your winter staples that have been skulking in the back of your wardrobe all year. It’s time to wear those super-soft luxurious cashmere sweaters, drape those butter-smooth pashmina shawls, and pull them all together with tailored coats that give a polished edge to your look. 

 

Once you are all layered up, and have pulled on a pair of comfy boots, it’s time to head out to enjoy the great outdoors. It could just be a stroll through Khan Market, stopping for a cappuccino and a macaroon along the way. It could be a guided tour through such historical sites as Humayun’s Tomb or the Red Fort. Or it could simply be a walk in the park, enjoying the crisp breeze blowing your face, and feasting your eyes on the seasonal blooms that brighten up the greenery at this time of year.

 

Wherever you head and whatever you do, remember to make the most of perfect winter days. These days they are few and far between. Before you know it, the temperatures will begin to rise again, and the sizzling summer will be upon us. And it will be a long wait before the Saptaparni flowers again.

Winter is coming

Here’s how you can best enjoy the season in the times of Corona

This is my favourite time of the year in Delhi. When the mornings and evenings turn noticeably cooler. When the afternoon sun loses its searing intensity and softens into a benign rather than malign presence. When the nights draw in faster than ever and you can pretend that the day is done by 6 pm and get set to enjoy your evenings.

Yes, for those of us who live in the north of India, it has become clear over the last week or so that winter is coming. But the question that faces us all is what it will bring with it.

The bad news, of course, is that we are being told by the medical community that Covid cases are bound to go up as the temperatures godown. This has been borne out by events in Europe and America, where the cold weather has brought in a fresh wave of coronavirus cases. In fact, so high is the infection rate in some countries that they have had to enforce fresh lockdowns to try and break the chain.

We can only hope and pray that we don’t see this happen in India as well, as the cold intensifies. But given that viruses like these flourish at lower temperatures, we are bound to see a spike in cases here as well. So, the only solution is to hunker down in our bunkers, maintain social distancing, always wear a mask in public, and keep washing our hands as if our lives depended on it (spoiler alert: it does!).

So, if you are someone like me who longs for the arrival of winter every year, how can you responsibly enjoy this season in the times of Covid?

Well, allow me to count the ways…

The best place to enjoy the bounty of the season is in the privacy of your own kitchen. Winter greens are flooding the market now, and you can indulge in all your personal favourites. For me, that means gorging on sarson ka saag, drowned in industrial quantities of home-churned white butter, scooped up with a makki ki roti. It means adding a healthy dose of fresh methi leaves to every subzi I cook,
from potatoes to gobhi to paneer. It means snacking on freshly-harvested mooli, cutting the bitterness of the radish with a mouthful of something sweet like a peanut chikki. It means feasting on flavourful oranges, biting down on each segment and letting the juice explode in your mouth. It means…ah well, you get the picture.

The start of winter is also the best time to take a long walk in your neighbourhood park. There is a cool breeze to power you along rather than a sharp wind to throw you off your stride. You are not weighed down with multiple layers of clothing to ward off the cold. And better still, you need to work extra hard to break a sweat. (Not to mention that it’s not quite so uncomfortable under the mask!)

If the idea of leaving the sanctuary of your home for a walk seems a bit daunting as Covid cases refuse to go down, then just settle down in a corner of your house that gets the dappled afternoon sun, take an hour off to read a book while you enjoy a hot cup of coffee or tea, or simply slip in your headphones and listen to some music. When the sun finally sets, you can enjoy the cool evenings while sitting on your
balcony with a glass (or two) of wine and your better half.

As for me, I am waiting impatiently for the weather to get even colder, so that the Saptaparni (Alstonia) tree that overlooks my balcony starts flowering again. The smell of the blooms is so heady that if I could bottle and sell it, it would make me a millionaire many times over. But frankly, just breathing in that fragrance makes
me feel like a million bucks. And, at the end of the day, that is all that truly matters.

Winter is coming

But this time around, I’m not among those celebrating its arrival

Winter has always been my favourite time of year. The moment the temperatures begin to dip in the early morning and the darkness sets in early, my heart starts to soar. Winter is coming, I tell myself excitedly. Though not in a George RR Martin way, thank God!

This year, however, the start of winter has begun to feel a little apocalyptic. I came back from a short break to find Delhi engulfed in a smog so polluted that just breathing that air, I was reliably informed, was equivalent to smoking 50 cigarettes a day. For an asthmatic non-smoker like myself, that sounded like the kiss of death (quite literally).

So, suffice it to say, my reaction to the arrival of winter this time around had been a little bit different. Instead of celebrating the season by taking long walks in Lodhi Gardens, I have retreated to the sanctuary of my bedroom with three air-purifiers going at the same time, anxiously checking the counters to see if the PM 2.5 count was going any lower.

The only time I ventured out was to attend the wedding of one of my close friend’s daughter. And after every single function, I staggered back wheezing to my room, puffing away at my Asthalin inhaler as if my life depended on it (spoiler alert: it really does).

The good bit about all this is that I caught up on my reading, devouring Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng and Ties by Domenico Starnone in double quick time (excellent books both, I could not recommend them more highly – but that’s the subject of an entirely different column). I also binge-watched the American TV series, This Is Us, weeping copiously all the way through (don’t let that put you off; it is a fabulous show). And I managed to get in a little exercise as well, working out on my cross-trainer to get my mandatory 30 active minutes every day.

So, compared to those who had to brave the streets and the dust and smoke of Delhi traffic, I didn’t do badly at all. And yet, through it all I was plagued by a vague sense of dissatisfaction, a nagging feeling of missing out on my favourite season of the year, as I sat barricaded in my room, breathing in the best air that money could buy.

My mind went back to winters past, to those halcyon days when Delhi was not a gas chamber, slowly but surely killing us all. I flashed back to my first years in the capital, when I lived in a barsati in Defence Colony, with tiny little rooms but a vast terrace that was transformed into party central the moment the cold set in. My friends and I would sit around a bonfire late into the night, drinking our poison of choice, eating whatever takeaway we had ordered in, talking, laughing, singing, and of course, in due course, dancing, the air crisp against our flushed faces. Good times.

Sunday afternoons were invariably spent in the homes of friends who were prosperous enough to have houses with gardens and backyards. The barbeque would be going, rustling up everything from kebabs to hot dogs, there would be pitchers of beer, sangria and margaritas at the ready (and mulled wine once the cold really set in), someone would be strumming on a guitar while the rest of us drifted along making desultory conversation, as we basked in the balmy sunlight. Soon the drinks would kick in and the lawn would be littered with people in varying degrees of wakefulness, until the soporific effect of the sun made most of us nod off. Siesta after fiesta, we used to call it.

Then, there were the weekend girly lunches my friends and I used to organize around this time of year at some open-air restaurant or the other. Though to be honest, these were less lunches and more gossip sessions, where a hundred reputations died a thousand deaths as we exchanged stories about the worlds of journalism, advertising and PR, which we all belonged to, our tongues suitably lubricated by lashings of Chardonnay. (Now that you mention it, I am beginning to see a pattern here…and yes, it involves alcohol!)

But my best memories are of spending lazy afternoons alone on my terrace, curled up on my wrought-iron sofa with a good book, with just a couple of oranges for company. No matter how carefully I peeled the oranges, a few drops of the juice always spilled on the book I was reading. And now, when I re-read one of them and see that tell-tale stain, it takes me back to that lovely sun-filled terrace where I spent so many happy hours breathing in that cold winter air.

It is these memories that keep me going now, as I huddle inside my air-purified room, fearing that venturing into the open will trigger yet another asthma attack. And with every puff of my inhaler I send up a prayer that one day soon, I will be able to relive these moments for real instead of just in my imagination.

Winter is coming...

And I, for one, can’t wait to make the most of it

There is something magical about this time of year. The mornings start off with a mysterious mist, the evenings get a bit nippy, and basking in the sun becomes a real option rather than an ordeal to be endured. As George RR Martin would say, “Winter is coming.” But unlike Sansa Stark, I could not be happier about its arrival.

This has always been my favourite part of the year. Growing up in Calcutta, we didn’t have much of a winter to look forward to. Yes, the days turned pleasant and a few nights were chilly enough to warrant the annual airing of our sweaters and shawls. But we still prepared for the season on a war footing.

Trunks of winterwear would be disgorged to awaken from their deep hibernation in the afternoon sun. Velvet coats, wool sweaters, pashmina shawls would be piled high on top of satin quilts on a sheet laid out on the verandah. And I still have vivid memories of rolling around on the pile, inhaling the smell of mothballs and marveling at how soft and sensuous (even though I didn’t know the word yet) the velvets and silks felt.

Winter would announce its arrival in other areas of the house as well. Pears glycerine soap would appear in place of Cinthol bars in the bathroom. The enticing smell of sarson ka saag would start emanating from the kitchen. White butter would make its appearance on our plates along with the mandatory makki di roti. And every morning, the gannawallah would stop by to sell us neatly-sliced sticks of sugarcane, and we would sit in the sunshine contentedly chewing cud all day long.

But I never really got a taste of real winter until I moved to Delhi as an adult. Working for a newspaper, all my budget ran to was a barsati, but much to my delight it came with a sprawling terrace, where I set up some wrought-iron furniture in the fond hope that I would spend my winter afternoons sunning myself like a cat that had had all the cream (or, in my case, desi ghee).

And yes, I did spend some splendid afternoons, curled up with a book, a steaming cup of coffee close at hand, enjoying the crisp beauty of a Delhi winter. But what I hadn’t bargained for was the cold.

The moment the sun went down and the wind started up, the thin roof of the barsati wasn’t much of a defence against the searing cold. And no matter how many layers I wore to bed or how many quilts I piled up on the bed, I was never really warm despite the heater valiantly dispensing a steady stream of hot air in one corner. And thus began my habit – that persists to this day; despite the fact that my bedroom is now warm and toasty thanks to an oil-based radiator – of going to bed with a hot-water bottle (which had the added advantage of making me feel like a character in an Agatha Christie murder mystery).

But despite all these minor inconveniences, I loved the Delhi winter. And I loved Delhi in the winter. The central roundabouts ablaze with purple petunias, red salvia, and chrysanthemums that covered the entire range of the colour spectrum. The subtle beauty of the flowering Alstonia tree. The smell of freshly-roasted peanuts being sold at street-side stalls. The sweetly-astringent taste of the first oranges of the season. The festive barbeques my friends set up in their backyards and front lawns. The bonfires around which we gathered as the temperatures dropped even further. I loved it all.

And yes, decades later, my love for the Delhi winter remains undimmed. In a recreation of long-gone childhood rituals, I still tip out all my winterwear to give it a good airing in the sun (though I stop my inner child from rolling around in it). I change my skincare regime in a nod to the season of chapped lips and cracked heels. I start my annual hunt for the tights and stockings put away after the last winter, before giving up the chase and buying a new lot – which I know I will inevitably lose by the next winter. And I carefully stagger my travel plans so that I don’t miss too many days of Delhi winter, because sadly, it is over in the blink of an eye.

How do I make the most of the season, you ask?

Well, let me count the ways. I schedule all my lunches – business and otherwise – in open-air restaurants so that I can make the most of sunny afternoons. Instead of staying cooped up in the gym, I go for long walks in Lodi Gardens (the flowering verges are a bonus). And I stock up on all my favourite winter treats – peanut chikki is my own Kryptonite – squirrelling them away for a chilly day spent in bed.

But most of all, I long for the barsati that was my first home in Delhi. It has long since been pulled down to make way for an international bank and a fashion design outlet, as part of the commercialization of that part of Defence Colony. Nevertheless, every time I drive past, I am reminded of lazy afternoons past, and boozy dinner parties that made up my misspent youth. And that chill that never quite went away from my bones during that entire season.

And I am reminded once again why I fell in love with the Delhi winter. And I fall in love with Delhi in winter a little bit more.