Seasons are like life in that when you have one you crave for another.
Being a girl whose heart will always belong to Delhi I adore winters. Winters in Delhi are the most beautiful thing. The warm sunshine trying to cut through foggy mornings. Winter is when the plants get a respite from the sweltering heat and all the gardens come alive with flowers. Sweaters come out and my ma will start dressing in layers equal to 5 or above. There are small impromptu bonfires. Apples find there way to the shops, also pahadi alu and special red carrots that end up in large pots of gajar halwa.
But winter in New Jersey is another thing altogether. The trees are barren, the sky is overcast, the snow on the ground that is so dreamlike when it first falls turns a dirty brown color and stays on the ground until the spring melt. My two old cars sputter and threaten to die, the roads are treacherous. The produce section in stores dwindles to a colorless mass as the season progresses. I took to jogging in the morning this winter, anything to feel heat in my limbs but snow on the ground and cold needles against my face was more than I could withstand on a daily basis. I finally understand why summer a season much maligned in a tropical county is so revered in North America.
I tell you all this because I have been craving cold weather lately. Maybe it is that as a fat child I have always found comfort in layers, maybe it is the string of festivals I associate with cold winter air. Whatever it is I am looking out already for fall, the first nip in the air, sweaters, hot stews, pies .... all that.