The world as we see it, we imagine it as green. If we are
surrounded by peaceful waters, we see it as blue. The world may be coloured
brown by the mighty mountains or the dry grass. Or it may fade to black once
darkness descends. But it can only be a special place and time when you are
blessed by pure whiteness from the heavens above. This whiteness is what I grew
up amongst. Every winter, Shimla has that ability to hide itself underneath the
woolly blanket of snow, cozy at sight but frigid at touch. One unsuspecting
morning you wake up to find unusual brightness lighting up the world outside,
and on peeping out of the window, you realize that the world around you has
turned white.
For those who have not had the blessing to experience a
snowfall, here’s how it goes. You read the forecast in the newspapers about the
expected snowfall, and you ascertain it by the dark and brooding clouds,
ominous in their immensity, monstrous in their surliness. They come silently,
without the usual pomp and show of their brothers of the plains. The day darkens
and the inhabitants of the earth scurry home to save themselves from the
seemingly impending doom. The doors and windows are tightly shut (even though
there’s hardly any wind), boiling water is poured into rubber bottles for
warmth, heaters are turned on, burning coals spread their fangs in the
angeethees and people rub their hands and pretend to be warmed. The night does
its magic and the morning is a new world. The only time I have experienced ‘deafening
silence’ is on these mornings. There is no sound of any vehicular movement, no
person can be heard walking about, even the birds go on mute and refuse to sing.
There is absolute silence. It’s heavenly.
But as they day breaks and the sun comes up (it’s always
sunny after a heavy overnight snowfall), typical sounds step up their play –
sounds characteristic of this particular moment. Sounds of thawing snow, of water
thus produced dripping drop by drop from the sloping roofs onto the path below,
clearing away the snow where it falls, of dogs pawing their way through the soft
fresh snow, leaving behind their footprints as if on freshly laid cement, of
mynas stepping out gingerly from their corners in the trees, of heavy trudge of
the early risers, inadvertently clearing away the snow for the lazier ones to
go to work later, of playful shrieks of little children forcing their dads to
make a snowman in the backyard. It’s a wonder, is what it is. Growing up in
Shimla has given me a world of sweet memories but the experience of a snowfall
is one of its kind.