Subir Roy: Where's winter gone?

OFFBEAT

My spirits soared once the trip to Delhi was finalised. The fact that we would be there on Republic Day signalled a surge of memories. R-Day meant getting muffled children out in the cold well in time to find a good place in the press enclosure opposite the saluting base so as to see the parade go by in its full splendour, with the bands playing their best for the VIPs bang opposite us.

I kept my fingers crossed. The cold I took for granted, what remained wide open was whether it would be cold and sunny. That would really be reliving memories stretching back 30 years and more. Cold clear sunny days with coffee on lawns bordered by rose bushes was as close to heaven as you could get in Delhi. Great as the pleasures were of living in salubrious Bangalore, which enabled you to miss most of India's intense summer, there was little to beat the intense cold of Delhi in winter.

You don't get something for nothing. If you indent for intense cold you have to give up ideas of flying your cultural colours at the wedding by wearing dhoti-kurta the Bengali way with the kocha trailing in the ground and allowing in free play of air that the Bengal climate requires virtually round the year. Kurta was fine, I decided, but in Delhi in January, aligarhi with long johns inside were distinctly recommended for men in late middle age.

So went my mental preparations for Delhi until the public announcement before the plane landed. Yes, it was 4 pm and not the middle of the night but still "tees degree" in late January! Surely they had got the pronunciation wrong. But no, the English announcement confirmed it was "30 degrees" and my spirits sank.

Then followed three days of mentally adjusting to an incredibly warm Delhi for the season after having first looked forward to the cold. Not weather really for a tweed jacket, my friend said with a slight smile in his eyes as he saw me first begin to sweat and then not know where to keep the unwanted heavy woollen. Seeing that I didn't like his light barb one bit, he rubbed it in, adding, good you didn't bring a monkey cap.

I let that pass but the weather was not on my side. Come wedding day and members of the baraat from Kolkata were out decked in dhotis that bordered on the sari in the elaborateness of their borders with the ends as frilly as Japanese hand fans. In contrast, I looked as dressed up for the occasion as a satyagrahi who considers it a sin to display either finery or class.

It didn't help when one of the older people in the group began a long spiel on youngsters in West Bengal these days failing to even learn how to wear the dhoti which should really be a must for special occasions and then quickly changing the subject when he noticed my attire. To put him at ease I muttered, "I thought it would be too cold in a dhoti." He was understanding and added that he could guess how people from the south couldn't take the cold.

That was not all. When the sultriness and dust had brought together the worst of both summer and winter, on our last day in Delhi it began to rain. My spirits lifted as I recalled how temperatures fell dramatically after a winter drizzle. So there I was the next day in both sleeveless pullover and jacket, ready for the early morning ride to the airport. But it wasn't cold at all. What's wrong with you, asked the expression on my wife's face. Nothing wrong with me, I protested, it's the climate that's changed.