My December

As I looked out of the window sill to imbue the mesmerizing soft solid drizzling vividly from the scarlett coloured sky,  I found the dense droplets of water vapour staring back at me instead. This year...there was going to be no sign of snow in the country. Or so I've heard.

Frozen 2 had just hit the theatres on 22nd November... but there was still no sign of winter in India.

As my head rested on the violet cushion that Mumma had gifted to me for an early Christmas present, my eyes tentatively went back to the scene outside the window. Last year there had been a cluster of boys runnings about in the field, clearing up the snow. This year, it was just the smog. 

I remember riding  up to my uncle's house on the 25th of each and every December . The date held a special significance for us - not only because it was Christmas , but also because it was their anniversary date. I used to order the roasted turkey early in the morning - and in the evening, when aunty would start getting worried about the lunch, a big fat turkey would appear magically on the table. They were all habituated on this trick of mine- but still they went into fits of laughter . We had to stop those gatherings after uncle's car accident. The old man was crossing the road when a huge truck appeared out of nowhere in front of him. When questioned, the truck driver said that he could not see a single particle in the fog. My uncle died on the second day. They said it was extensive blood loss. I said ... It was the smog.  

I could paint those colours  in the sky- those crimson yellow shades with a touch of  scarlett. I could paint them in my canvas -replicate them exactly to the point. But the problem was that I had finished my grey paint.

Without that, how could I replicate the atmosphere outside??

  Mumma called for me this morning. Formerly, she had laughed at the idea of watching Frozen 2 in the theatres. "  Are you still a kid of five ?" she had said.  Maybe yes; along the  years, my height had grown- and so had my maturity. My eyes had now become accustomed to the vast blanket of smoke and water vapour in the sky every morning . You  call it pollution. I call it beauty. Mumma had  taught me to always find out some beauty in the ugliest things in the universe.  It  was the beauty that lay in the fog that mesmerized me now.

But still sometimes- a part of my soul, which was perhaps still immature, would nag  me to go find a part of my childhood winter. Those foggy  mornings with faint droplets of water replicating numerous pearls on the soft lush green grass. Elsa's hand swirling in the air...........Anna singing ' For the first time in forever' .........the ride to my uncle's......Kristoff singing "Reindeers are better than people" to Sven......those droplets of dew touching the surface of the grass.....but now- now it was just the smog....