WINTER

There was a fine cover of heat outside. Every little crust of snow that was left, on the road-sides, by the tree-trunks, and the roof-top - was slowly melting away. People were beginning to move. The whistle of the intermittent train was largely involved in forming a melody with the hustle and bustle on the backdrop. The sun was beginning to break through the rest of the snow-cover. The old house wore a beaten-down look, laden with aged moss on the eroded walls, a few ferns bursting out of the cracks and damp surfaces here and there. But it would see some fight back, now that the sun was finally there. After some dark days and chilling weather, Shimla was lazily waking back to life. Winter was finally over.

Inside the woodden house was damp, dark and dusty from unuse. The closed cupboards reeked of mothballs, a smell that was slowly turned to stink, the rotting wood peeled out of its polished surface, the cracks bulged in places and most corners looking like a failed battle with the termites, ready to fall down at any instant. Even the most adaptive of souls would want a breath of the fresh air, the sunshine, all heavy with an unknown fragrance from unknown flowers blooming in the bushes just by the road. It was a new day, new weather, and time for some renovation and fresh air.

But not for Saawan. That nonchalant 18-year old guide in the city. He always wished for his tyrst with Winter not to be over. Not just then. Still wearing a pale-green monkey cap, he was sitting on the verandah, looking into the nothing-ness of life.
The blue eyes gave him hope and determination. The wet hairs and the striking looks gave him those sexual urges that he had only seen in the B-grade movies. He was at his joyous best, be it reciting unconventional Shayari or trying hard to retrieve a gold-colored puppy from the streets because Memsaab had said "It was so cute." For the whole season, he was full of life. Until Winter stayed, after that, gloominess creeped in with the sun.

"Saawan.. Kahaan Hai?", the part-time mother and full-time mistress of the lad, came shouting from behind. He had taken care of Saawan all these days till he grew up to secretly masturbate in the bathroom and not tell anybody.
The beauty of Winter had made him forget all the childhood nostalgia spent with his mother. The fragrance of heena from the freshly washed hair, the clinking of thin bangles, an array of colourful chunnis, the dark kohl lined, almond eyes darting coy looks and then quickly looking away if he happened to look.. All these moments were kept in queue by moments where Winter wore no make-up, yet her beauty was touching the pinnacle of charm. Long silky lustrous hair, glistening snow-white teeth fabricating an impeccable laughter and radiant glow on her face left him spellbound.

"Saawan! Khayega nahi beta? Memsaab fir aayengi.."
"Iss baar nahi aayengi.." Then there was silence. Saawan's voice resounded in his mother's ears like the hurricane hits a sailor. She was never perturbed of a visitor packing off in hurry but this time, she seemed a little shocked. That if she wouldn't come, what would Saawan do? How would he carry on with his not-so-important life? Shimla always provided its little guides a lot of people to steer about but the look on Saawan's face seemed like the onset of a long dry season. This time, though, he himself would seize to guide.

"What? He left? Just like that? And my Mom has been loving a bastard all this time!" And then Winter had cried. He had heard the telephonic conversation from behind the door. He didn't understand a word, but he'd thought that may'be she'd come to know about his secret affair and was angry on him. She'd packed up suddenly and gone the next day itself. Saawan had understood that her four months of stay in India came to an end because he couldn't hide his feelings enough from her.

"Garam Hai.." "What?"
Once Saawan was bringing in tea for his Memsaab when he saw her coming out after a bath. Her wet hairs let out fortunate water-pearls which moved down as they caressed her body till they were soaked into the light pink-colored towel draped around her. Saawan was relishing the moment of his lifetime.
"Saawan?" "Memsaab.. Chai is Hot!" Winter let out an affable laugh that struck a chord in his heart. To him, she looked more sensuous than Sridevi or Madhuri or Kareena or Katrina. Soon he was off- to his small rusty room.

Four days had passed. No tourist had been entertained by Saawan. He hadn't spoken a single word. The mistress had tried all possible ways- from making his favorite food, calling in his old friends, showing him his favorite movies- to make him feel a little comfortable. But all efforts were in vain. He ate little, slept rarely, and went nowhere. Work was the last thing Saawan thought of. Today, he was sitting on the verandah on a rugged old chair.

He dreamt of Winter's sensuous touch across his face and neck, where Memsaab looked like a princess. Then she touched him on the shoulder, in a very innocent and reassuring manner. He could hear her calling "Saawan" a couple of times. She caressed him by patting on his shoulder and then played with his hair. He felt all sorts of urge to go to his bathroom again. But why was this suddenly happening! When he opened his eyes, happiness knew no bounds. His Memsaab was back, again. She stroked his shoulder lovingly and said, "I'll stay for long, Saawan. Don't you pick up more tourists now."
"Amma khana laga, bada bhook laga hai," Saawan yelled back at his mother. And he smiled at Winter Memsaab.