Winters and writing go hand in hand. Some of the most wonderful pieces of literary works are created in winters or so they say.
Last week, with the first rain of the season in Doon, began winters in the absolute sense. While for some, winters are rejuvenating, some may truly loathe these Godforsaken months when engaging in the most fundamental activities seems no less than a chore. For me winters are a blend of creative felicity and delusional insanity. It’s the time of the year when happiness mixed with a sort of ‘high’ nervousness creates a feeling of an end of a phase and the beginning of a new journey; it wouldn’t be an overstatement to say that I feel I am ‘reborn’ each winter; everything seems either hazy or too bright, nonetheless, it doesn’t fail to provide me the much needed calmness and serenity.
And talking about insanity and creativity, though that gorgeous cup of piping hot caffeine is thoroughly adored by addicts like me during the freakishly hot months of the year as well, the bliss that it provides on a chilly black winter night is explicable, especially when I need an extra boost of creative happiness after a long tired day.
Winters evoke a certain warmth in mind, body and soul which when expressed in words seem to have emotion, poignancy and a sense of extreme reality; words so plain, but intense and oh so true! A fire rekindles, the imagination surfaces and in no time it comes alive as a piece of magnificent art, literary or otherwise. Writers live the most in winters when they can hibernate, and write the most sensitive pieces.
The Christmas and New Year festivities are an icing on the cake, the bliss being so complete with glittery Christmas celebrations and with a joyful air, a new beginning awaits. Though writing doesn’t necessarily need a fixed time and place, winters can evoke a writer in each one of us.