Cold as a Marble Slab in Winter

(Day 69 of 112)

I could really love the cold weather you know. But I don’t. Some of it has to do with the fact that I’m a Bombay girl and we’re trained to deal with incessant rains and floods and rude people (for the most part). We don’t know what winters are except for our text books, and even then the images are of snow and snowmen.

So the fact that the Fellow is from a cold land is something I’ve always considered one of those life paradoxes which cannot be explained (unless you think the universe is trying to teach my rain drenched city soul a cold lesson). Now I’m going to spend at least a couple of months a year in the lap of the Himalayas and I’m guessing it’s going to be something to look forward to in a masochistic sort of way.

Already (and it’s only August) I’m feeling cold here. Everyone around me is celebrating the summer/monsoon and I just recovered from a super-strong, all annihilating cold. All day my father-in-law keeps opening the glass doors to allow for cross ventilation and I keep pulling them shut to avoid the cold breeze. Worse is the fact that while the mother-in-law pants about how hot it is, I’m permanently wearing layers of t-shirts, a fleece and socks, all in an attempt to keep warm.

And don’t even get me started on the condition of my extremities. My hands and feet are freezing. All. The. Time. It’s annoying actually. Even the simple movement of tying my hair is a pain because then my stupid cold fingers touch my warm neck. I mean it’s like I can’t get warm without an external source of heat, and if it wasn’t too weird (even for me) and I was averse to becoming a standing joke, I would have started up the electric heater.

Instead here I am, sitting all bundled up and cosy, with a hot water bottle at my feet, finally warm.

The Fellow would have been so much better I tell you. Sigh.