The Turn of Winter

It grows quiet. The omnipresent hum of the fans dims and then stops. Bird calls become louder, so do the utensils in the opposite building. The metro, the airplane, the vehicles on the road all become deliberate in their sounded presence. 

The sunlight forcing its way through the welcomingly open balcony doors seems to make false promises of continued presence, and like starstruck girls we embrace it and melt in its luminous warmth. 

The perfect Delhi weather is more cherished in its famed brevity: the few weeks of a perfect balance of clothes drying in a single day, and of contemplating the need for fan.