Hypnotic Silhouettes

Human beings, as products of source and surface traits, are similar as far as their belongingness to the same spring – species is concerned, yet they all are completely different from each other.  While dealing with other people finely or forcibly, they reflect vast variations in their intellect, emotionality, wisdom, motivation and other behavioral characteristics. Children from the same set of parents; reared up in the same environmental backdrop are not the same. The origins of differences are found in the innumerable and complex interaction between each individual’s heredity and environment, with heredity remaining as a basic source on which environment keeps on making its dynamic designs throughout the life.

Winter with all its eloquence would set in. Cold frosty season usually caused two types of feeling, manic and depressive; on the one hand it brought tremendous spells of relaxation, fun, and entertainment; on the other, created bouts of distressing situations; weather would carry all the atrocities, loaded with dark chilly clouds, low- light atmosphere and continuous wet surroundings with mud and murky roads, it yielded instant sufferings especially to the poor and downtrodden. Seasonal Affective Disorder would set in and refuse to go for the want of flashes of sunshine and warmth that seldom obliged.  But the best moments we enjoyed were snow-falling. We liked to wait for it eagerly; sing typical songs in waiting, keeping the fire port dear to bosom under the pheron and opening a little aperture of the window we would call snow to fall.  Surprisingly, mother always wanted us to sing,” Shin’e pato patp bhi’e yeto yeto” calling her brothers separated at partition of India and living across the border. The call failed to bring them back but snow would oblige. The tiny virgin snowflakes, completely different from each other would start dancing in white sacred dresses. Not caring a fig for psychologists who labeled them and human beings with snowflake syndrome due to their uniqueness. Their dancing in ecstasy would never lose the balance; with a silent brew, they would create harmony on the ground, unlike human species who mess up and make world a hellish place.

   

Nothing can replace the serenity of inner atmosphere on seeing the first snowfall that would turn the valley of roses into a white paradise of peace, a transformation from one kind of surrounding to another. Watching and playing in the snow was our luxurious upshot that we carried over year after year irrespective of age and fatigued enthusiasm; it gave the same thrill and awe. Winter exhilaration would start with the closing of schools, though not with complete freedom, life would become easy with no morning rush and run. Ironically, our mother used to create a school at home with rules harder than the original ones adopted by a regular school but that never stopped us from indulging in snow adventures. Good at piloting mischiefs, I always dared to stride on fresh snow, wearing those oversized hey and wood sleepers. The kharwhour was wonderful shoe regality; it remained inches above the snow surface, boosted tremendous self-esteem by adding grace to the height.  Looking up in the sky, feeling shower of the snowflakes on my face, I would leap out my tongue to feel the taste of tiny ice crystals and cold snowdrops; spread my palms out to catch hold of those unique beauties that would melt under my fists. With an artistic inclination, I liked to rub bottles of red and blue ink on my sole shoes to make designs on fresh snow. It always brought a hard thrashing as an aftereffect; mother would bundle me up, wash my feet in a basin with warmest of waters, apply droplets of glycerin on the raw wounds and then pat dry and sooth the frostbites on my toes and heels with a little harshness, in between warning me to behave like a girl, targeting hard my gender deficit. 

 Imprinted on my psyche is the fact that snow would fall in abundance, by heaps and bounds sometimes cover our windows and doors, we would look for professional people to ease our roofs of snow- heaviness. Surprisingly, In spite of frequent snowfalls, there were no worries about blockade and restoration of National Highway that would get or halt our routine food and other essential supplies; life was at ease with less dependence on the goods coming from outside the valley. We were a generation who believed in saving and austerity for snow and rainy days, start the process from midsummer for the survival in winter. There was a sort of self-sufficiency by producing poultry, milk and day to day needs individually. We would stock up with sundried vegetables, store fresh some of them underground and enjoy the taste of their crispness in frozen environments. We were less greedy about food,  yet to become highly ferocious meat eaters, in spite of that enjoyed best curry and meat delicacies, occasionally. What an organic life we lived, cooking our meals in unglazed clay pots that locked in all nutrients, crushed and quelled bacteria and made our foods extra delicious under a slow process. It was such an intense experience to cook a Shub Daig, a compulsive fascination in winter. Mother would start preparing for it during daytime by depositing in a clay pot meat, turnip, spice, oil and other ingredients, cover it with dough and leave to simmer on low heat for the whole night, it would take a long time to cook but taste exotic the next day,  having an earthy dash and different aroma that was worth waiting.

With time, snow of that type has become a rarity, a desire unfulfilled, it is less frequent, it does not fall in abundance anymore, perhaps feeling shy of falling because no measure of snow can cover and hide the amount of blood spread over our meadows and mountains, a regular affair in the valley. The torture may continue for all seasons to come if not taken care of seriously. 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

nineteen + two =