I grew up in Delhi. People often ask me if I miss the city. I don't. I don't miss the Delhi of today. I do miss the Delhi I grew up in. And specifically, I miss some feelings. One of those was the day the weather changes.
You see, Delhi has been blessed with 4 distinct seasons, unlike many parts of Southern India (including Hyderabad, where I live now).
But there is a day when the switch from hot to cold and cold to hot happens. You cannot miss it.
In October/November, just after Diwali festivities, you'll still be gorging on dry fruits and sweets when you wake up one morning, breathe in and feel a slight shiver. That's the day the winter sets in. You pull out the naphthalene ball induced winter wear. Half sweaters first. Full sleeve shirts. The winter uniform. The whole jazz of it. This works for 2 weeks before the full winter drama starts.
And then again, one day in March, just around Holi, when school exams are wrapping up, you wake up and suddenly, the comforter (or razai) feels unbearable. You want to throw away every sweater. (You don't. You pack them up with napthalene balls, of course, so they survive another year in the dungeons of your bed diwans). The fan is turned on, speed 1. The birds are chirping. Summer clothes come out. They look smaller suddenly. Everyone looks lighter, with the winter baggage off.
I miss that. I miss that switch when everything of the past few months feels like a closed chapter. It feels like a new beginning.
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