"If winter comes, can spring be far behind..."
This immortal line from Shelley's 'Ode to the West Wind' always tickled my mind, since the time i first read the poem as an undergraduate student. Albeit my mind always tried to interpret the metaphorical meaning-the continuity, the immutability of Nature as against the transience of Man. But never did its physical implication tickle me. Having been born and brought up in a tropical country like India, winters were always a thing i romanticized about, especially in a city like Calcutta. Winter was a welcome relief from the heat, dust, humidity of the burgeoning metropolis. And to think of Siliguri, my birthplace, situated in the foothills of the mighty Himalayas, winter reminds me of the moist, misty mornings, the mellowed sun, the languorous afternoons and the chilly evenings, made warm by hot cups of specially flavoured Darjeeling.
Going to school in the early hours was an experience by itself. Huddled up in buses, rubbing hands to get rid of the numbness, pulling socks literally up til the knee-and many such other improvisations to keep ourselves warm would occupy most of our journey time. Many of us would be still drowsy eyed, barely pulling ourselves like zombies. And our activities would be invariably punctuated by yawns followed by the emanation of smoke, much to our amazement. And as the bus turned right from Darjeeling More towards Sukna, entering the famed tea-estates of North Bengal, we would be greeted by lush greenery. I, a keen Nature lover, almost felt as if i were in the lap of Nature at once, a la Wordsworth. Its refreshing beauty and unadulterated serenity still "flashes upon the inward eye". The mist, the fog, having accumulated overnight would give a blurred and hazy vision at times but interestingly enough it added mysticism to the already beautiful Nature. It was like Nature veiled in its beauty exhibiting a shy charm. This journey of thirty minutes had become a routine to almost all, mundane to some , and mechanical to few others. But to me it was a new journey everyday, a new beginning for the day.
Speaking of journey reminds me of the other fascination-no, not Nature...but a man-made machine-The Toy Train, which has now become a symbol of heritage. As the bus entered Hill Cart Road, our path would run parallel to the rail tracks, sometimes running towards our left, sometimes towards right and yet at other times crisscrossing our path. Never did i feel this man-made machine to invade Nature or to ruthlessly control it, but this eternally blue-coloured machine added a kind of charm, following an unwritten rule-abiding by the ways of Nature, winding its ways over the serpentine tracks towards the mighty, unconquerable Himalayas. On a few days when we were lucky we would cross our paths with this toy...whistling its way zig-zacking, criss-crossing, steaming until melting in the lush greenery.
Gone are those days, my school days, my salad-days...my "green days".
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