It was just one of those regular January Delhi winter nights, you know; with all the usual elements that have given it its unique scent -phlegmatic fog that makes the fluorescence of the street lamps even more desultory, cacophonic silence that penetrates not only the mind, but also pierces the heart, lonesome, desolate streets with their concrete skeletons that become more unforgiving as the chill of the darkness finds a malleable ally in them . Looking outside the balcony, with a mug of coffee in his hand, he absorbed the sights and sounds in all their sanguine, macabre magnificence. The mug was special; it had the bearings of not just the wear and tear of the past two and a half years, but also engraved in the cylindrical, monolithic porcelain were stories no one would know of; except him. Funny things mugs are; you think they are just a piece of stone with a mural painted to charm the simpleton mind; and here he was holding it close to his chest, guarding it more carefully than Golum had guarded "The Ring". "My Precious", thought he; he took a sip and stretched the extremities of his lips to their limits as the hot liquid marked its progress down his throat and into his bloodstream to give him that familiar rush of untamed energy he was so accustomed to having.
He thought of the day that had gone by; career reviews, appraisals, unrealistic deadlines, routine parades to the cafeteria, the same old trivial squabbles with colleagues; nothing special; just the same cycle of periodic redundance; all totemic symbols of the unimaginative, ordinary world that he had submitted himself to. Perhaps the monochromatic consistency of the season had rubbed off on his life as well. He thought of April that will soon bring spring and perhaps more colors than he could see right now; when perhaps the obfuscation that Winter had created would give way to the more serene, heliocentric moonlight. But there was still some time before that. And as he mused about the wanton behavior that Nature is wont to display, somewhere far away from the coziness of his balcony, beyond the Atlantic, it was snowing...
The coffee felt lukewarm; he smiled as he took another sip; and acknowledged the cold sweat that trickled down his spine...
Oh wicked sun,
Oh wicked sun,
See,
What we've,
Become...
