….I did an entire long needlessly funny post about how I am sifting through my winter woollies with longing, and how the damn mercury refuses to go south from the mid thirties it is stuck at. And how one is seriously contemplating sweat gland under the armpit removal, and some mode to remove said sweat glands from neck and face as well.
And how one has, in one’s mind coordinated sweaters and pullovers with camisoles and shoes. And how one is eyeing one’s sole pair of ankle high booties with a lust that one normally reserved for Danish pastries and Hrithik Roshan. Both equally delectable and equally unapproachable. But, of course, I digress. And I need to tell you I forgot to save draft. Which means that we had a power fluctuation and the entire post, went poof. Just like that. Into the ethers. I did a little Rumpelstiltskin hop and jump and stomp kind of a dance around the computer but it still wouldnt cooperate. I could threaten to ask the computer to hand over its firstborn, but I dont think it would.
The point of the entire previous, unlucky post? Basically, how I love the winter. Having lived all my life in a city that has summer in which one sweats and monsoon in which one sweats some and shivers some, and then back again to summer where one doesnt sweat as much, I love the winter. I love the thought of being bundled up in woollies with foggy breath coming like eerie little gusts from one’s mouth as one speaks, and the sky dark and overcast above. God knows, I would give anything for a day when the sun decides its had enough of searing holes into my retina, and takes the day off.
I know there are those of you in climes where you would be inclined to disagree, having just slipped for the umpteenth time on the sheet of ice on your driveways and who need to spend a couple of hours every morning before you can dig yourselves out of your own home when it snows through the night and would happily trade places with me, to which I say, phtoeey. I like it because I dont live there. I know only the nice mild cold of coordinated sweaters and tees, the all enveloping warmth of a nice woollen trench coat is beyond me.
So, indulge me while I pull out my handknitted sweaters and pullovers, and mourn the lack of any cold except the airconditioning the justify the wearing of them, and bear with me while I whine about the heat that is coming out through my eyes and ears and nose in little puffs of steam while I dream about wearing chunky knit cardigans and my all time favourite look of all times, solid coloured turtlenecks with denims and very high boots. And dont hyuck hyuck at me, when I imagine that is the ultimate in coolth in the places with the colder climates.
Damn. If you see me wandering around in the blazing Mumbai heat with a turtleneck, I trust you to keep your mouth zipped on whether I’ve managed to melt any lard within.