The lukewarm winter
Newspapers and news channels have been reporting of a typical winter in northern parts of India – foggy, cold and difficult. I see pictures and hear stories of planes unable to land and trains making way very slowly through the mist.
Sitting in a cozier weather down south, I have been wishing for something like that here in Bangalore for a few weeks now. But the biting cold and typically foggy mornings of the winter are nowhere to be seen this year.
I have always preferred colder climes to the hot and humid summer days that forces me to keep a lookout for air conditioned enclosures. Winter mornings are usually crisp and quiet, with little activity and a lot of freshness on the streets. Basking in the sun in later hours of the day and trying to force away the idleness of the winter cold day has a pleasant feel.
My preference to winter goes beyond the beauty of frosty morning outside or the pleasures of a warm bed at home. The immense beauty of nature unfolds in this inert season, as Tabebuias bloom pink and yellow to declare the beginning of the season. When Tabebuias wither in December, it is time for African Tulips to take over and paint the town red, followed by Flame of the Forest and Gulmohars that splash the city in colors till the onset of summer.
Beyond the urban jungle, flocks of winged visitors crowd the lakes and forests as they fly down from the cold of the north to breed and care for their younger ones. Water bodies are dotted with ducks, storks and pelicans and the forests accommodate smaller birds like the drongos and shrikes. Farther away from the city on the hills, fog envelopes the slopes in the mornings, and sun goes down with a colorful display every evening.
View from Skandagiri – Feb 08
My highlight of the last winter was at Skandagiri, where the unusual gathering of clouds below us were swept by the east to west wind through a narrow opening between the hill range of Skandagiri and Nandi. The previous year, I was struck by the views from Nandi Hills, of two different layers of cloud – one above and another below me, with the hilltop sandwiched between them. Sun tried to make way through the clouds above, while gaps in the cotton candies below us gave glimpses of the flat ground below. Further away from Bangalore last year, I stood on Thadiyandamol peak and watched the sun lacing the clouds with orange and crimson colors as he went down. A few days later, sitting in a boat just off the shores of Gokarna, I watched dolphins jumping up and down in the sea as the sun went down turning into a mild crimson ball.
Sunset from Thadiyandamol – December 2007
It has been much different this season, which has stayed unusually warm in these parts and hasn’t witnessed a significant dip in mercury. My jacket is still lying unused in a corner of the wardrobe, fungus ridden from the days of the monsoon. Waking up in the morning and getting out of the house, I don’t feel the chill and crispness of the air. People walk around with ease without shivering or closing in their arms around their body. The unfailing fog was missing on the top when I made an early morning foray to Nandi hills in the middle of November. A friend went to Skandagiri in the later days of December and came back without seeing the magical display formed by envelope of fog and clouds. I haven’t taken stock of migrating bird population, but have seen pelicans missing in Yelemallappa tank – one of their regular hangouts just outside the city (though, my guess is that there is no decline in bird arrivals this year). The charm and romance of the cold days is missing. I don’t know if it is simply a function of global warming or related to many other forces that govern and influence nature, but I still hope to see some goodness in the weather in the remaining half of the winter that is ahead of us.