They say there is an unending winter in my homeland.
Ah, my teeth shiver,
and my mind hurtles back to a cold day in Srinagar.
I remember the day so well, 29 December.
Today, decades later,
we sit incarcerated within the four walls of our houses,
lips curled, nursing myriad grouses against the world.
In that cold, cold world of Chilai Kalan,
with our young eyes and unclouded brow,
we saw the stark, naked beauty all around.
We, the red-nosed kids, skidded on snow,
while the elders sat on balconies,
watching the snowfall.
Sometimes the parapet breaking its fall,
and generously providing it some resting space near the chairs.
Wistful eyes recalled their own childhood,
amidst sips of kehwa as the snowflakes
danced a merry dance.
Hand in cold hand, clad in mufflers and tweed coats
going on outings in – 3 degree Celsius temperature,
enchanted by the wisps of smoke,
that we magically exhaled.
Ah, I recall that van which sold sizzling hot kehwa
poured straight from the samovar,
the taste refuses to leave me, till now.
In round-eyed wonder, we saw
a carpet of snow covering the ground.
We shivered, feeling warm.
It was fiercely cold, but we were warm,
bewitched by the sight of two happy snowmen
clinging to each other in a loving hug.
They say there is an unending winter in my homeland.
The window of my mind again opens a crack
and I am back on the ledge of that window
of our ancestral house, The Relic, from where in that happy clime,
I could see the houseboat owner, Abdul down below singing,
his mellifluous words ringing in my ears,
Wande challi, sheen galley , bayi eeyi bahaar. *
Yes, they say, spring will be back.
* Winters will go, the snow will melt, spring will be back.
