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There is something in the air-- the music of December. With the faint breeze of music, catches the December fever, and I get all set to greet it with my hands widely stretched. I hug this season with pride,- cause it is the most enchanting and memorable of all the seasons.
Frozen Fingers
I dash out from my cosy bed for an early morning walk. The lovely feeling for the cool cool breeze tickling my nose pink. With watery eyes and frozen fingers I reminisce the winter in North. The valley of Kashmir stretches with pall of snow. The dazzling snow on the mountains, on roads,on building, on trees and on their fine branches. The winter in pure whiteness. One perceives its magnificent beauty unblinkingly.
I remember the warmth of the silent falling snowflakes
Playing with snowballs making a snowman, zooming on the set ice with rollers and skies., rushing in the house to warm the frozen limbs beside the heated furnace called ‘Bukharin’ savouring the best food and fruits. Those were the days of childhood unforgettable .Trekking the mountains where father had been stationed with the battalion . On reaching we would storm father’s mess. Replenished our mugs with hot tea over gossips . A thrilling adventure during our vacations. During school we would freeze with cold. The teacher held each students hands over a well lit charcoal earthen pot (kangri) … to thaw them up. A feeling of love and care embarked within us . Whether Muslim or Christian, a Sikh or a Hindu all mingled together freely.
It was the winter of the year 1962 when war with China broke out . Father moved to the borders of NEFA . A huge fleet carrying jawans and arms drifted towards the borders. We were used to seeing them parading with heavy guns . Practicing artillery.—they would scream c-h-a-r-g-e . Piercing the bayonet of the rifles through the heavy sand bags. All their practice would be proved ‘ perfect’ when the enemy would crumble dead!
Nightmares
In the biting cold of the Himalayas the only attire which seemed to warm them up was ‘Courage’. Their echoes and echoes of the marauding planes awakened us from dreadful nightmares. How many had laid their lives, returned wounded or in one piece was the ever growing concern of their near and dear ones.
Mother seemed never to tire from hearing about Dad’s welfare & whereabouts. Our eldest brother (14) years would masquerade as father imitating his voice and thumping footsteps. Poor mother’s impatience would make way through streams of tears.. We kids then realizing the grievousness would cluster round her and console her. We prayed the almighty sincerely. Our prayers were answered. And with the advent of December, one day, father knocked at the door. Oh! Our joy had no bounds. Thank God, the war was at last over!.
My above article was published in Hitwada
There is something in the air-- the music of December. With the faint breeze of music, catches the December fever, and I get all set to greet it with my hands widely stretched. I hug this season with pride,- cause it is the most enchanting and memorable of all the seasons.
Frozen Fingers
I dash out from my cosy bed for an early morning walk. The lovely feeling for the cool cool breeze tickling my nose pink. With watery eyes and frozen fingers I reminisce the winter in North. The valley of Kashmir stretches with pall of snow. The dazzling snow on the mountains, on roads,on building, on trees and on their fine branches. The winter in pure whiteness. One perceives its magnificent beauty unblinkingly.
I remember the warmth of the silent falling snowflakes
Playing with snowballs making a snowman, zooming on the set ice with rollers and skies., rushing in the house to warm the frozen limbs beside the heated furnace called ‘Bukharin’ savouring the best food and fruits. Those were the days of childhood unforgettable .Trekking the mountains where father had been stationed with the battalion . On reaching we would storm father’s mess. Replenished our mugs with hot tea over gossips . A thrilling adventure during our vacations. During school we would freeze with cold. The teacher held each students hands over a well lit charcoal earthen pot (kangri) … to thaw them up. A feeling of love and care embarked within us . Whether Muslim or Christian, a Sikh or a Hindu all mingled together freely.
It was the winter of the year 1962 when war with China broke out . Father moved to the borders of NEFA . A huge fleet carrying jawans and arms drifted towards the borders. We were used to seeing them parading with heavy guns . Practicing artillery.—they would scream c-h-a-r-g-e . Piercing the bayonet of the rifles through the heavy sand bags. All their practice would be proved ‘ perfect’ when the enemy would crumble dead!
Nightmares
In the biting cold of the Himalayas the only attire which seemed to warm them up was ‘Courage’. Their echoes and echoes of the marauding planes awakened us from dreadful nightmares. How many had laid their lives, returned wounded or in one piece was the ever growing concern of their near and dear ones.
Mother seemed never to tire from hearing about Dad’s welfare & whereabouts. Our eldest brother (14) years would masquerade as father imitating his voice and thumping footsteps. Poor mother’s impatience would make way through streams of tears.. We kids then realizing the grievousness would cluster round her and console her. We prayed the almighty sincerely. Our prayers were answered. And with the advent of December, one day, father knocked at the door. Oh! Our joy had no bounds. Thank God, the war was at last over!.
My above article was published in Hitwada
2 comments:
nice article. good that you have saved the copies. You can start writing to Hitawada again.
Wow! This is a wonderful piece mom! Loved it!
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