Winter Strikes SLG

14^th January, 2011: 11:32 p.m.

By the dead of the night, the city was plunged into the miasma of dense, blinding fog. The streets lay unheeded, placidly empty. The houses lay still like cold behemoths. The occupants were huddled in their beds; the warm quilt drawn over their faces: some lay asleep, while others preparing to take forty winks. I heard the shuddering cry of a dog nearby; I surmised it to be the curse of winter as I found myself wrapped in a blanket-cum-quilt.

15^th January, 2011:

6:31 a.m.

A draft of chilling air blew in through the ventilator, sending a chill down my spine. The weather being severely rimy, I didn’t take it as a surprise. I tightened the grip of my blanket(s) over me and again was transferred into a cozy ambience. My eyes closed.

8:26 a.m.

I wriggle in lassitude under intense comfort: my head not peering out of the quilt. Strongly and briskly, I threw myself out in a jerk and up landed I on the floor, waiting to clad myself in a sweater and a “house jacket” in utter chill. Yes, indeed the cold was killing.

OVERVIEW

Winter. That’s the word. The frosty hands find their places in the warmest of pockets. The warmest of shawls find themselves wrapping a dweller. And the warmest of blankets find themselves covering the slumbering.

This year the city saw one of the coldest winters knocking at its door. The temperature had fallen to a minimum of 6⁰C, the least in the last five years. The “LUX COTT’S WOOL” shirts proved somewhat helpful, being the innermost garment for bringing intense warmth. And not to forget, the jackets and the jumpers and the pullovers are to be used to the fullest: since this is not general cold, this is severe cold.

May be this is a hasty conclusion, but still I have to mention that the dog that “cried” last night was found dead in front of our house, shrouded with a jute sack—not because of cold, but because it was suffering from a disease the though of which struck me since I had long been searching for a reason to suffice for the dog’s decrepit body and beetling face compounded with exposed ribs. The dog was a year and a half old—I cared for it since its birth. There’s some more history surrounding it, so I keep that for another day. For now, goodbye.