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Warm trick to beat the cold

Unlike my wife, who belongs to the hills, I am not fond of winter.

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Col Avnish Sharma (retd)

Unlike my wife, who belongs to the hills, I am not fond of winter. The laze, chill and an over-clad demeanour is an abnormal feel, reminding me of our troops from South, who are not used to the cold. But extreme temperatures, depending on the frontiers they are deployed at, don’t deter these bravehearts from performing their duties in the service of the nation. 

My tank driver, Sowar Krishnaiah, a handsome, dark fellow, would turn into a hosiery mannequin during winter. A multi-layered thick jacket, monkey cap and gloves concealing chapped cheeks and hands and a perpetual clatter of his shining white teeth would announce his presence. Once when Krishnaiah was preparing to go on leave, my wife asked him: ‘Jab aap chhuti jaate hain to bahut samaan le jaate hain, wapis aate hue aapki biwi aap ko kya deti hai?’ Shyly he replied, ‘Madam, agar sardi mein duty par wapis aana ho to Coimbatore ki khaas cold cream deti hai!’

Most of our war exercises were planned during winters. The almost sub-zero temperature of deserts used to freeze us inside the tank, a 40-tonne cast-iron machine, turning it at least 3 degrees lower than outside. It was the hope of a warm sun making an appearance during day which kept us going. More than this was the appearance of a pagri-clad, bearded villager from a nearby dhani (hutments in desert) carrying a neatly wrapped bajre ki roti with red chilli pickle and hot tea made with camel milk.

Lately, my only reason to look forward to winter is an end to the sticky weather. However, a chip off the old block in our golf four-ball came out with this smart one, ‘The more you sweat in the sultry months, the lesser  chill  you experience during  winter,’ thereby suggesting unabated golfing. Fearing a blind adherence to this wisecrack, my wife gave an ultimatum, ‘It is him or me.’ The outcome was obvious, we are staying together  with no change in the number of days I am permitted to play golf. 

The other morning — a cloudy, wintry day — I went to the RLA office for a high security number plate for my ageing car. At the makeshift parking, I smelled a whiff of ginger and cardamom. The tea kiosk owner at the corner was busy, surrounded by expectant customers, rubbing their hands to keep warm. As I stood sipping the steaming tea served in a trademark miniature glass, the task at hand shifted to the background. During the days that followed, I realised these amazing kiosks were everywhere — parking lots, commercial areas, office complexes. 

Cutting down on my tea consumption at home, I now find excuses to move out of the house for a tea treat worth a princely Rs 7. Most of them have evolved with the cashless drive, giving customers the option of e-wallets. Back home, my wife and the daughter-in-law are in a dilemma: has he kicked the minor vice or is our skill to brew good tea rusted? 

For a change, my extended winters are spiced up.

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