The warmth of the winter sun

I remember, winter’s noon when I was young

In that corner balcony,

Basking in the mellowed warmth

Reading leisurely

 

All the homework neatly done

It was time to read some more,

That slivered time that all was mine

No studies, nor no chore

 

It was the first time I had found

The joys of travelling

Though bound at home, I’d always feel

I had got a pair of wing

 

For I would pour on magazines

Outlook travellers old

To sail to the far-off Himalaya

The city felt not cold

 

Every week was a journey new

Say, the Kalka-Shimla Mail

Or a hamlet new upon the hills

Kasauli, Pangot, Chail

 

From Abbott’s snow-clad cricket field

To the lakes of Nainital

To the tulip fields of Kashmir’s heart

And a houseboat on the Dal

 

And every week the cold deserts

Of the north turned mystic more,

Ladakh, Hemis, Lahaul, Spiti

The silk route and its lore

 

Closer home, I found Dooars

In the foothills of the Queen,

Darjeeling, Kalimpong, Kurseong

There was so much to be seen

 

Perhaps, it was the cold in the winter’s chill

That brought the mountains close

A petal wafting in the plains

To remind of a mountain rose

 

It was the start of a romance deep

A love for the mountains strong

(That still inspires me even today

To pen a poem, song)

 

It was also when the plans were born

Under cloudless skies of blue -

Endless plans to walk the hills

Some of which came true

 

The rest are still mapped in the mind

From Hunder to Tawang

So many sonnets to be writ,

So many songs unsung

 

That even today, when winter comes

It feels like a mountain call,

Be it a bugyal’s wind, a prayag’s roar

Or the din of a colonial mall

 

All heading back to a Calcutta sky

When the mind would fleeting, run

And travel to the mountains white

In the warmth of a winter sun…

 

_______________________________________________

Every winter weekend, my sister and I would spend countless hours listening to Denver and Lucky Ali, and indulging in a newfound love for reading travel magazines. It was the start of a tryst with the majestic Himalaya that resulted in days of planning our summer vacations in the hills, of out-reading and out-knowing the jewels scattered but well hidden in the Himalaya – the thirst for which has stayed even today. In those cold winter afternoons, made cosy by the afternoon sun, perhaps I would find a resemblance and connect to the hills that I coveted so much. Winters were thus filled with fun, that sense of resfeber, of anticipation to travel to these yonder lands that stays alive, unabated even today be it a short weekend trip to Kalimpong or that long meticulously planned trek to Ali Bugyal yet to materialise. It was the start of a romance with the hills that resulted in countless trips to Bhutan, Sikkim, Himachal, Uttarkhand and more, all guided by those magazines and compendiums (that have been preserved even today with the priceless Tintin, Tinkle and Ruskin Bond books).

Far away here, winters are severely cold, and yet, I ensure to sit and sip the sun whenever possible on weekend afternoons with the latest edition of Outlook Traveller or Bhraman, not just to indulge in a bit of nostalgia, but to keep building on the wanderlust for the hills, and make the next plan to view Kanchenjunga, Nanda Devi or a Chaukhamba.