Frozen : The Beast of Delhi Winter

It was morning and the beast of winter was roaming wild in Delhi.  Clothed in multiple layer, I streamed through the crowded and clouded New Delhi railway station. Sun was hiding, rather hidden. I hurried to the Metro station, only crowded though. Beast is yet another animal, afraid of crowd.

Exiting the burrows of Delhi Metro, I was yet again in the territory of the beast. I boarded a rickshaw. Teethed with wind, her claws tore apart me hunting for my warmth. I fought, my clothes fought. I thought I won. Then as I talked with the rickshaw wala, I saw my mouth ejaculating unfamiliar vapors. It was her exhausts. The beast was breathing through me. She didn’t get my warmth, but she took my breath. I looked at the sky for the yellow emperor. But the unwilling emperor had chosen to hide beneath the clouds.
                                                    As days passed by, the beast had conquered the air around me. From bed to toilet, rickshaws to roads, the beast followed me. Every day I wake up only to get knocked down by the beast. She ties me down to the bed. It takes hours to untie her webs and knots. Please don’t call that laziness, it’s that beast induced inertia .While brushing, I see her flooding the tap bleeding my water ice cold. She rubs her herself against my tongue and teeth, icing them.
I walk down the streets haunted by the lashes of her sharp airy robes. As I reach the burrows of the Delhi Metro, I vanish into those millions of Delhiites switching back to their monotonous lives. Crowds clad in jacket packed into metro to feed the lifeless computers, machines and cubicles. For them, thoughts have remained motionless for years, left frozen and fossilized. Thoughts, frozen and disconnected, pay for their loans, credit cards and investments. Crowds can chase away the beast. She is scared of the crowds, however lifeless they are. And I slip into the crowd camouflaged among the sheeples.

Women and an Election

It is the escalator and the air above that resurrect me from the doped consciousness into the dusk of a lazy winter of a crowded city. The beast is still in the air. But it’s the mouthwatering smell of momos, a north east Indian delicacy, that welcomes me back, celebrating my resurrection. Crowded as any space in Delhi, I fight for my plate of momos. Crowds of unwilling people around the infinitely scattered food stalls stole my right to choose my pace. I move through the crowd scathing past the dull colored rickshaws.Muffler scarfed unshaven rickshaw walas huddled around the roadside stare at me, at everyone though, for not letting them cycle me back home. Autorickshaws draped in colorful flags continued to chant ‘ Paanch Saal Kejriwal’ and ‘Modi and Bedi’ adding to the multiple chaos and tantrums the Indian Capital.

Her robes sharpen as it gets darker. After having supper, I meet her one last time at the wash basin. As the water drains into my plate, my hands exude confidence from my communist heart. I mend my hand into an iron fist as I brush away the food particle sticking on to the plate. Braving her skin biting and skin freezing, I give it a final flush. As the day ends, I wrap myself in my rejai, webbed and rolled inside. Wishing myself good night and one fine dream, I retire to my passion, sleeping and dreaming. Beast floats around the rejai, looking for an inlet to steal my warmth. Smirking hard , I doze off.


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