I’ve always loved the winter season; and December-for more reasons than one-has been my favourite month. The air is so fresh and invigorating, the choicest of vegetables flood the market, there’s a surfeit of choice for fruits, one can munch away on goodies and still have room for more-even oily, spicy food is easily digested…..but my ramblings are becoming too food-oriented. Those are not the only reasons that make winter special. As school and college students, the long winter holidays were ideally utilised. This was a time for unending badminton matches played right through the evenings on proper hard courts, friendly tournaments with not-so-friendly-results.The days were equally well-spent; playing cricket in the benign sun where kids ranging from age 8 to 19 participated with gusto, not to forget the endless picnics, both planned and unplanned that dotted the season with unfailing regularity. The first kind was the highly orchestrated, annual event organized by the Club, where regular subscriptions were taken, funds collected, menus drawn up-the organizing committee agonizing over every, minute detail, till a good plan evolved and finally the great day (generally Jan 1, in those good ole days when the concept of revelry on December 31 had not caught on) full of unbounded enjoyment. Tambola and tug of war among other games, formed an integral part, most of the cooking was actually done outdoors! Crisp, hot pakoras dripping with green dhania chutney did the rounds as did piping hot tea-in customary earthenware cups-with the quintessential earthy flavour. Simultaneously, the biggest vessels that we had ever laid eyes on were obtained and kilos of mutton chucked in and some veteran uncles jumped into the fray providing admirable support to the retinue of cooks. This was started fairly early in the day, as it was a well-known fact that mutton takes a long time to cook and, in the absence of giant-size pressure cookers, allowing it to stew in its own broth-in a manner of speaking-was the only option. Of course, this technique gave the final product the kind of yummy quality that made it incomparable. The wafting aroma was quite another story and by the time lunch was ready we were all but counting the minutes. These were high points in our lives and there was a sense of emptiness for days after this annual event got over, days utilized though, in talking about it and reliving some of the fun.
Picnics of the other variety-the impromptu ones- kept dotting our personal landscape all the time. A gentle breeze, a warm sunny day, the river flowing peacefully by the dam…all observed by experienced, young eyes and the split-second decision would be taken. It would be deemed just the perfect kind of day-for a picnic. Then the minor detail of food would enter the periphery of our existence and inroads would be made into Mummy’s kitchen and that wonderful place called store room (another outdated concept) to check out the stuff available. Completely undeterred by the staple fare-read parantha-subzi, namkeen, some odd fruits-no cold drinks (unheard-of luxury) so plain water (tap water!!) filled in bottles would suffice. Some coffee/tea would be made hastily and poured into large thermos flasks; any other snacks that happened to be there, thanks to our ever-enterprising mother, would be packed in for good measure. Playing cards and the ubiquitous Ludo would go in next and Leena, never too interested in matters of the tummy, would focus on her area of expertise: carrying either her portable transistor or the National Panasonic tape recorder we were inordinately proud of-and a good selection of cassettes. Providing quality music to the experience was her responsibility and she did that with élan. It was work well-divided, come to think of it. Me concentrating on the grub, Mummy in helping me pack, Manoj on the games and other logistics (rugs, water, a morha for Mummy etc), Leena on music and Bhaiya-if his winter break was on and he was home-in being the efficient general manager (displaying all the qualities of his future vocation!). Papa, naturally, would be away at office, working hard and making all these fun moments possible for us...... And then, off we would go to our chosen destination, just across the road and down the slopy trail to the river bank and then wind our way downwards till we arrived at a grassy patch in a shaded haunt, the wind gently wafting through our hair and lifting it, the sun shining gloriously and joining us in our moments of undiluted bliss.
And so the good years went fleeting by and Life generally ambled along, a lot of changes coming in between. The one thing that remained unchanged was my love of the month and my patient wait for it, for eleven long months to pass before this magical month arrived. But well worth the wait, I always told myself.
And now, having moved to the NCR almost a decade ago, I feel my love for this time of the year has strengthened, if anything. The reason is not far to seek. A new dimension has got added to the list of reasons (though picnics had got relegated to the past, long years ago) for the popularity of the season. And that is: this is the period that sees the influx of dear family members-uncles, aunts, cousins-and a host of friends visiting their country and what better route than good old Delhi? Well, that's where the best part lies because then, many an evening is spent catching up with them and when that happens, more often than not over a well-prepared meal and tonnes of nostalgic laughter, it turns out to be an evening of bliss nonpareil. So winter in general and December in particular has come to be identified with this lovely pastime, a treat for bon vivants. And the waiting period, which culminates in such wonderfully energizing get-togethers, has an excitement all its own, an emotion very few can match or compete with.
The spirit of an all-pervasive cheer and bonhomie, the peace and serenity of Christmas permeates right through the month and the exciting anticipation of the New Year all contribute to making this month almost perfect.
Vive, December!
