http://www.parakhi.com/blogs/2011/11/26/winter-sun
Winter Sun
November 26, 2011 By : chiya-pasaley
Every winter one of the major season activities we have at our house is getting some of that warm sun on ourselves. I am sure around the world people have different ways to enjoy the winter sun. But maybe because I have done this for years going back to my earliest memories, I cannot fathom any other culture in this planet that knows how to get the best out of this season than we do.
We have the quintessential balconies (or the front and back aangans, or those open spaces of Tundikhel) where after the morning rice full on our stomachs the first batch of oranges is taken to. Laid outside are the thin carpets and other temporary arrangements, where we put ourselves in comfortable makeshift positions and lazily start to peel away the first harvest. On grander days there is a large bhogatey that has been peeled, cut and marinated in everything from spice and oil to sugar and milk.
All this while the sun is working away a charming temperature on our gullible selves and we fall into the lull that eventually turns our bodies to gravity. On favorable circumstances, we begin with the simple stretch of legs. Then the arms go back and we are supported only by our thin resolves for an upright bearing. With time that resolve dissolves into ice cream and there we are, laid out in the sun, making conversations here and there while the oranges disappear, one after another.
Then there are the activities that we make ourselves believe are productive and can be done under the sun. Why not? The empty months before my SLC exams I brought out kilograms upon kilograms of books out on the balcony to study for the iron gates. If I look back at those practice copies from then, I can find one inevitable pattern: each new day I have started with great vigor, the hand writing is smooth and neat, my numbers are matching, and my science is sound.
Then somewhere on the second to third page I am doodling, the handwriting is stretched until finally there is a nice thud. And there, I have collapsed. Just a little bit of this and I will get right back to it. But even then I knew I was fooling myself. Some days, a pile of orange peels would be dried up to their fibers beside me when I woke up. And fell back again.
So many of my friends have the same stories with many gradients and variations. Once a friend and I were discussing this culture in general and he related to me a story. Apparently a fine mid day in the middle of the winter months a distant cousin of my friend went into a CDO Office to get some of her documents done.
One by one, she combed through the whole office and not a single soul was to be found in any of the rooms. Reaching higher and higher up for signs of life she eventually barged into the roof door. There in the balcony, in somewhat of a circle were all the staff peeling away on oranges and cracking badam shells engaged in soft conversations. In way of small talk she informally once complained of this later to a higher authority who happened to be an acquaintance. “Well, it’s winter”, was his reply.
Chiya-Pasaley loves tea and writes about conversations that originate along the hours spent on drinking many cups of it. Besides that he is curious about many things and especially the rural-urban divide, and the coming of modernization to Nepal. He writes on the mundane and the very fantastic, and everything in between.
http://www.parakhi.com/blogs/2011/11/26/winter-sun
.png)
