The Lost Glory of Delhi Winters

The winter sky is a pall of gloom. The sun hangs dirty in the sky and the world looks bleak and unloved. The sky has an ominous shade of grey; there is grime in the air and soot in our lungs. We have to interpret winter now through numbers, examining AQI and PM2.5 levels, and wade through a spectrum of classifications that move in the narrow band between the lethal and the very dangerous.?

What has in essence been destroyed is Delhi’s and arguably North India’s most redeeming feature- its winter. Summers have always been merciless, raining down dry heat when not punctuating it with the deadly loo, wind that caresses heat into every particle of our bodies. But winters were glorious, with the sun acting for once, as a welcome friend.?

Delhi winters had the best combination of icy cold and beatific warmth. The air was crisp, asking us to hold on to our bodies with urgency, while the sun opened us up with gentle empathy. The gradual movement from the shriveled-up feeling that comes from being chilled to the bone to the expansive fullness of being warmed from the inside was a daily journey to happiness.

The charpai, moongfali, chikis and revdi. Hot cups of tea that were not meant to be counted. All household activities conducted in terraces, balconies and courtyards. We followed the sun till to its dying slivers,??accepting defeat only when the sun stopped being a memory.?

There is something about the winter sun that makes it unrecognisable from its summer counterpart. Like the vamp who has a change of heart and appears in a white saree towards the end of a Hindi film, the sun in winter is uncharacteristically full of benevolence as it rescues us from the bone chilling cold that is otherwise our fate. The winter chill and sunshine are a combo act, the former makes us shiver while the latter swoops us up in its enveloping warmth. The result is a state of physical bliss that only sunshine in Delhi winters can give.?

Then as one moved indoors, the rush to seek refuge in the razai. All-seeing, all forgiving, the razai did not banish the cold as much as dissolve it. Warmth took the very places that the cold had seeped into, and the world became a womb where one lost oneself. Where one’s body ended and where the warmth began became impossible to discern. There is a perfectness to the warmth that the razai creates, a completeness that has no parallel. Stirring out of it once ensconced inside, however was a different matter altogether. The icy cold floor and the unbelievable speed with which winter could reclaim our bones made the prospect of stepping out back into real life a nightmare. But every return to the razai was its own reward.

The other feature of winters, and this wa decidedly a mixed blessing, was the emergence out of hiding of an entirely new and altogether more colourful wardrobe. Unlike today’s times when winter clothing has become synonymous with sleek silhouettes gleaming with designer overcoats and ankle length boots, winter fashion had a more homegrown quality about it. The elder ladies in the family would take it upon themselves to painstakingly knit sweaters for the entire brood and the result was not pretty.?

The most egregious offenders were the people from other parts of the country. In our case, winter brought with it a steady stream of relatives, loved and tolerated, from Gujarat. They channeled all their understanding of, and unfamiliarity with the concept of winter into the luridest colours and the most improbable patterns that they could find in the single sweater that they owned.?

But the true meaning of winters lay outdoors. Why linger at home, even if on barsaatis, when one could be outside, basking in the sun, and enjoying the wide roads (with occasional traffic in those good old days) and plethora of parks and public spaces? The weather demanded picnics, and families dotted the pristine landscapes of Lodi Garden and Buddha Jayanti Park.?

Being out meant that one had access to a bewildering range of extremely appetizing food.??Street food in Delhi has always been its characterizing feature, but it in the winters that it truly comes alive. Spicy chaat of all kinds but particularly the aloo chaat, piping hot paneer-lined chhole bhature, kaju-studded aloo tikkis, ghee soaked gajar ka halwa; winter food in Delhi is a succession of delights. Topped up with ‘expresso’ coffee with the mandatory sprinkling of drinking chocolate, every outing became a reason for gustatory bliss. At night the stalls servings scalding hot chicken curry, exquisitely spiced tandoori chicken, and flavor-packed fish tikka take over. Even the humble boiled egg, when had straight from the pot in the dead of night was an epicurean treat defying description.?

At night, the streets would be sparsely populated as everyone scurried inside their own razais and feasted on Chitrahaar if it was the right day. Those who remained outside were swaddled in many layers, vapour steaming out of their mouths as they made their way. Bonfires were a public good that dotted the roads, and anyone could join any fire that had been lit on the way. The feeling of warming oneself by a fire when it is really cold, is akin to having one’s humanness returned in its original form, to its belonger.

Its not as if winters today do not have their own charm. But there is simply too much to worry about. The outdoors have become our enemies, and the sky a shroud. We have learnt to distrust water??but learning to distrust the air we breathe is not that easy. No bottled substitutes are available. And there is only so much that a poor razai can do against the fearsome might of Delhi winters.?

(This is a version of an article that has appeared previously in the Times of India)

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