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.

Belt up!

As overcoats become part of our winter wardrobe, the classic trench is quite the trend-setter

There are few everyday pleasures more life-affirming that sitting at the window of your favourite cafe, sipping a steaming cup of cappuccino, and watching the world go by on a sunny winter afternoon. There’s the harried mother hurrying along, two frisky toddlers in tow; the lovelorn couple who insist on walking hand-in-hand even if it means blocking the entire pavement; the gaggle of girls who have bunked classes on this glorious day to do some serious window-shopping; the laptop-wielding professionals out for a business lunch.

As I idly watched them pass by my window to the world a few weeks ago, I began to wonder: just when did overcoats become part of our winter dressing in India?

I remember shivering through many winters when I first moved to Delhi while my long, black, toasty overcoat gathered dust in the closet. No, I wasn’t a glutton for punishment. It was just that nobody – and I do mean nobody – ever wore overcoats to keep out the cold. Instead you were supposed to layer – thermals, sweatshirt, sweater, jacket, muffler, shawl, all piled on, one on top of the other – until you resembled nothing more than a little butterball. But overcoats were only pulled out when you were travelling abroad in the winter.

Don’t ask me why. It’s just the way it was. Overcoats were simply not part of our winter wardrobe in this part of the world, no matter how cold it got.

That, thank God, is no longer the case. Now you see every kind of overcoat on display on the streets in colours ranging from boring black and regulation camel to red, pink or even yellow and every fabric from heavy wool to supple tweed or even soft leather. There’s the quilted knee-length number; the ankle-length style that provides complete coverage; the pea-coat version; or the formal double-breasted.

And then, there’s my personal favourite: the belted trench.

For several winters now, I have lived in a trench that I snapped up at an Abraham and Thakore end-of-season sale. It’s made of black silk, lined with lightweight wool, and embellished with an appliqué pattern of a palm-print. A three-button style, it comes with a thin fabric belt that you can use to cinch your waist in.

And what makes it worth every rupee of its price is that it goes with simply everything. You can slip in on over a tailored suit; you can wear it over jeans and a sweater; it works with a woollen dress; it’s perfect with a tailored skirt. Hell, you could even pair it with track-pants and it would still look elegant and fresh.

But then, that’s the thing about the trench. It is simply the most versatile winter garment ever. And given the many different trench-styles patrolling our streets these days, I’m guessing that more people than ever are buying into the trend.

It helps, of course, that the label that is synonymous with the trench – Burberry – is now in India and doing brisk business (its sales are second only to Louis Vuitton). The company recently hosted an Art Of The Trench event in India, where it invited people to come wearing their Burberry trenches, styling them in their own distinctive ways. And I have to confess that I was taken aback at the number of people who owned one.

If you ask me, though, nobody wears a Burberry trench better than Catherine Middleton, or as she must now be styled, the Duchess of Cambridge. In one of her first engagements as the fiancé of Prince William, she chose to wear a knee-length trench with frill detail at the hem, a kind of cross between a coat and a dress. Needless to say, the style sold out in stores soon after.

In India, the Burberry trench has been spotted on various Bollywood beauties. Deepika Padukone wore a rather fetching, thigh-skimming version at the Grand Prix in Noida. Lesser stars like Jacqueline Fernandes and Neha Dhupia have both been snapped in trenches as well. But, for my money, the Duchess is still on top of that particular style list.

Ah money. Yes, there’s no getting around that. The Burberry trench is expensive – and it is the only style that never goes on sale. No, never ever. I guess one way of justifying the expense is to tell yourself – over and over – that it is a classic that will never go out of fashion. And that it will begin to pay for itself in a decade or so.

But if you can’t hypnotise yourself into spending that kind of money, never fear. Every high street brand is doing its own version of the trench and some of them look just as good (even if, alas, some of them don’t feel quite as luxurious). Try your luck at Zara, Top Shop, or even some of the designer brand factory outlets as the winter winds down.

This is, in fact, the best time to get your hands on this style staple at an end-of-season sale. And it will be a bargain at any price because you will be living in it for many winters to come.

I should know. I’m wearing my Abraham and Thakore trench even as I type this. And it looks just as good as new.