Come November!

If you should ever be so lucky to find yourself in the charmed little town of Chandigarh any time, make sure that it is in the month of November. At this time of the year, summer is a distant memory, the monsoons are long gone, leaving the Lake overflowing, the earth smelling of wetness and the trees squeaky clean and green- as they all should be. There is a gentle nip in the air, reminding you that winter lies ahead, but that you are not quite there yet. The newly unearthed quilts make it just little harder for you to get you out of bed, but you notice that you had switched on the fan anyway, sometime during the night, just because.

 Festival season has started. So have the weddings. Food has become oilier. Shopkeepers are smiling more. There are sales everywhere. The girl you met in Sector 11 is worried that winter fashion is nearly upon her, and she has nothing to wear. You rush your silks to the drycleaner’s, happy that you can finally wear them in comfort and not in the sweltering heat like you did last time.

 Morning walks on the Lake become a joy. You try and walk faster because you had indulged in chocolate truffle at Monica’s last night. You notice the goose bumps on your arms and remind yourself to return with a sweater tomorrow. Yes, definitely, tomorrow. You see the mist hanging low over the Kasauli hills and wonder if you can plan a trip this month, before it gets too cold. You observe that the pool at the Lake club lies deserted, because pushy mothers, in hordes, are taking their children to tennis lessons, now that swimming season is over. You enjoy the solitude at the far end of the Lake, knowing it is short lived, that next month it will be packed with schoolgirls holding placards to welcome birds from Siberia.

 Under the peepal tree, you notice the earnest young man who studies for the civil services. Next to him, a group of aunties sit in a yoga pose, bosoms heaving collectively, as they exhale hard in rhythmic succession. Potbellied middle-aged men walk briskly, talking of Business and other Important Matters. An octogenarian, dressed in white, runs on the mud track, a group of young men, lounge lazily on the stone wall, staring unabashedly at a pretty girl.

 You look at these good folk of Chandigarh, and then at the peepal tree, its branches stooping low over the sun kissed water, sunrays dancing through its branches and it occurs to you that everything is all right with the world. The world is perfect, and it is. It really is.

 The month of November, you see, Is a good time to be….