In the part of the world where I come from February is not spring. February is a part of the legend called winters. But on days like these the sun shines through, and though there are no new leaves, no flowers – the sky shines like spring. Pseudo-spring.
The afternoon temperature was 12 degrees Celsius, and the sun shone brightly. On the bund, where I happened to walk this afternoon, the sun shone brightly. The Jhelum sparkled in the newly found light. The pigeons, domesticated by the houseboat dwellers, flew in circles over it.
On the brown grass and barren trees, the spring-like sunlight, produced a unique effect. Autumn-like . But not quite autumn, yet. The spring buds are already there.
The sunshine is there, too. But no, it’s not spring yet. Let us pause for a while. Let’s celebrate chilla-e-bachh – the little chilla – for a while.
This year’s winter – the chilla-e-Kalaan – the elder brother will not be easily forgotten. But let the smaller sibling take its time. So while we still have our kangris and hamamsburning, and our pherans and daraaz in use, let’s celebrate this medley of seasons. This cameo of an autumny-spring in winter. (Thats my invention – the word ‘autumny’).
And as usual, Charles Dickens says it the best.“It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.”