"Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter's evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day."
~ Virginia Woolf
This is how dramatic it looked today as dusk fell and I was one of the fortunate few to treasure the scene, for it hovered for just about ten minutes and then melted away into the fathomless expanse of the moody evening sky. Then at once a curtain of calm fell upon the dying day and hushed the accumulated hustle and bustle. Sheer magic!
There is something quite stirring about a winter dusk that excites some very strong, bittersweet emotions. Such evenings back home, as I recall them, were much awaited for by everybody. No snow, no biting chill and certainly no getting bundled and lost under layers of clothes. Just a few months of fog, fragrant gardens (yes, some of our most beautiful flowers bloom in the winters) and a more than welcoming respite from a cruel tropical sun.
I can feel a throbbing, warm gush of nostalgia as I write this, waking up a string of memories that have and will continue to keep me warm through the years.
Ma's steaming hot tomato soup waiting right after homework. Weekend music lessons on the tutor's verandah. A delighted me listening to abridged Shakespeare narrations by father. Neighborhood badminton fun. Giant dahlias, almost the size of our happy faces. Frothing coffees in hostel mugs. Baggy jumpers and long roomie walks. Chicken roll from the favourite fast food corner. Deconstructing matters of heart under the pretext of literary theories. Cardamom chai sprinkled with warm giggles at the university cafeteria. The mock sentimental ghazal nights. Roasted corn on the cob rubbed with lemon and salt. Pillion riding on the motorbike with the then-boyfriend, now-husband. Samosa with fried green chilies...
Strange, how food rules most of our fond recollections, isn't it?!
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