Winter on the Mountains
At 6000 ft above sea level I am as it is gasping for air and when it snows, I’m gasping for warmth. The outside is a blaze of white. I peek through the blinds of our third floor home at 2 in the morning; in the middle of my sleep. On a good day as I lie on bed I can see the mountaintops. Tonight it’s bright as daylight outside although the mountains are dark. The snow is flying down silently and filling up the sand ball pit, the car park and the sidewalks. It looks eerie. There is so much happening out there without a sound. The world is filling up in all nooks and crannies in a shroud of white and there isn’t the slightest whisper of it!
I wait for Anu in the afternoon at the bus stop. Looks like there is a blizzard today. The mountains have put on a vanishing act under a curtain of mist. As if they never existed. The snow is falling in slants of 45 degrees. It’s tipping the bushes that already look like giant white mushrooms. I wait under a carport watching the crystals make their way to the ground. What looked fluffy last night is more like tiny spiny ice drops. Some of it makes it to my face like instantly melting cold needles. I try to close my eyes to the petite weapons.The wind is blowing in short gusts. I warm myself by constantly moving my feet—like to a dance number. On September afternoons I used to watch the big fat raindrops pelt down the street and our garden like all hell had broken lose. That was back home in India. The smell of wet earth, the little puddles that took forever to dry, and the sun that shone brightly despite the rain, almost every time graciously bowing to a hazy colorful rainbow. The trees that swayed low with the winds, the occasional afternoon lightening and thunder and the rain drops that spilled over into the bed room through leaking windows. I don’t see any of that today. This is a silent icy rain that fills up my eyes and face. I try my best to enjoy the storm of crystallized water drops. Anu and I hurry home now. The snow boots begin to leak water and salt onto the carpet. I shake off the salt and wipe the water.
Its evening and we make our way to the car on the snow trodden sidewalks. The winding roads are a slushy dirty black and the tires skid every now and then. I realize that the deicing fluid is done. Its only 5.30 and its completely dark outside. In fact the sun begins to mope its face by 4. I park the car by the road with the emergency lights blinking, step outside and try wiping off the ice from the windshield. My bad, I forgot the gloves at home. The kids are fidgety. Cars are passing by slowly and repectfully. A short while later the heating kicks up and the ice melts away. We finally reach Kumon.
At 6000 ft above sea level I am as it is gasping for air and when it snows, I’m gasping for warmth. The outside is a blaze of white. I peek through the blinds of our third floor home at 2 in the morning; in the middle of my sleep. On a good day as I lie on bed I can see the mountaintops. Tonight it’s bright as daylight outside although the mountains are dark. The snow is flying down silently and filling up the sand ball pit, the car park and the sidewalks. It looks eerie. There is so much happening out there without a sound. The world is filling up in all nooks and crannies in a shroud of white and there isn’t the slightest whisper of it!
I wait for Anu in the afternoon at the bus stop. Looks like there is a blizzard today. The mountains have put on a vanishing act under a curtain of mist. As if they never existed. The snow is falling in slants of 45 degrees. It’s tipping the bushes that already look like giant white mushrooms. I wait under a carport watching the crystals make their way to the ground. What looked fluffy last night is more like tiny spiny ice drops. Some of it makes it to my face like instantly melting cold needles. I try to close my eyes to the petite weapons.The wind is blowing in short gusts. I warm myself by constantly moving my feet—like to a dance number. On September afternoons I used to watch the big fat raindrops pelt down the street and our garden like all hell had broken lose. That was back home in India. The smell of wet earth, the little puddles that took forever to dry, and the sun that shone brightly despite the rain, almost every time graciously bowing to a hazy colorful rainbow. The trees that swayed low with the winds, the occasional afternoon lightening and thunder and the rain drops that spilled over into the bed room through leaking windows. I don’t see any of that today. This is a silent icy rain that fills up my eyes and face. I try my best to enjoy the storm of crystallized water drops. Anu and I hurry home now. The snow boots begin to leak water and salt onto the carpet. I shake off the salt and wipe the water.
Its evening and we make our way to the car on the snow trodden sidewalks. The winding roads are a slushy dirty black and the tires skid every now and then. I realize that the deicing fluid is done. Its only 5.30 and its completely dark outside. In fact the sun begins to mope its face by 4. I park the car by the road with the emergency lights blinking, step outside and try wiping off the ice from the windshield. My bad, I forgot the gloves at home. The kids are fidgety. Cars are passing by slowly and repectfully. A short while later the heating kicks up and the ice melts away. We finally reach Kumon.
Its 7 by the time the kids get car pooled home. Wet shoes and jackets to wipe again. There is a knock on the door. We all scramble to open it hoping Secret Santa is here to bring some warmth. There is warmth indeed. 8 young adults dressed in black coats and caps burst into carols. The snow steadily falling behind their backs, the blackened mountains and the lilting music ensuing from their smiling faces makes it feel like a dream. They sing of Jesus and happiness. They hand us cookie plates, a christmas card and just as they had appeared, vanish into the snow. "We wish you a merry christmas..." is still reverbating in the air.
Its morning again. Snow is falling. Lightly. The pits and parks are fuller now with more virgin snow. No foot prints on them. The sidewalks are clean but wet. I look at the roof of our balcony. The icicles are hanging down clean and shiny like at the mouth of some ice age cave. Some of them are rhythmically dripping down water. The sun is out. It’s a shame. Just some bleak rays trying to spread their untrue warmth. A watery sun. And obviously no rainbows.
1 comment:
Post a Comment