Winter and Solitude Musings

 

I love winters. The pleasant cold atmosphere mingling with the delicious aroma of hot beverages, tasty soups and cozy nights. The heavenly feel while sitting on a couch, being wrapped in a blanket while reading a novel and listening to old Hindi songs. That’s winter for me. The season brings back some good old memories of school days, college shenanigans and of companionships and life. But it all feels so far away now, as if it took place in a different timeline, a different era. Winter now brings in harsh winds of solitude. Its cold breeze turns the pages of the books lying in dust since decades. It makes me ponder over life and reality, a difficult feat because people say I love my fiction and dreams.

There comes a day in many of our lives when we realize that no matter where we go, no matter where we are, where we live, where we have our accomplices, we feel like the misfits. The constant feeling that we don’t belong here, that these places don’t call me, that these people aren’t mine and that the days are against me, this feeling never goes away. No amount of soul warming hot soups or the comfort of fireplaces can then provide us enough warmth to battle the icy cold thoughts. The strangeness of the place never goes away, no matter how much you try to blend in. it looks at you with a sly smirk, one that conveys its preeminence in the situation. It makes you realize at every nook and corner, in every lane and in every shop, that you are the loner here, the outsider. You try to adjust, go far so a to even blend your routine with it, but only to be left wanting. And that is not a welcome feeling, especially when dealing with day to day life.

Some of them reach their homes quite early, some live near their homes, while some search for their home for all their life. It’s a never-ending journey of travelling miles and miles, reaching a place with renewed hopes and opening up the arms to embrace the change while being met with contempt. So, you shake away the feeling of despair and continue your journey again. But the only companion on your journey is your solitude and at some point, in your life, you become wise enough to accept it as it is. You embrace the solitude with open arms instead and take it along with you. Because hey! At least your solitude isn’t leaving you alone! Oh, the irony of it all.

Home isn’t always about a place, or people or even the feeling. Sometimes is as simple as the morning dew that brings out the freshness on flowers and as certain as the sea wave touching the shores. That certainty, is home. To know that after a long day of wearing a mask outside for the whole world, at the end of the day you can dim the lights, and be yourself and convey the feelings straight out of the depths of heart, is home. To laugh on mindless things and act funny only to be doubled with joy, is home. And for me, this is what winters has been about, to find my home.

Being an introvert, isn’t for the weak. And nor is being a selective introvert, when you vibe with only few and can easily ignore the rest happily for the rest of your life. The connection needs to be instant or needs to shimmer slowly like a soup on the stove, it’s delicious smell increasing with each stir, but the connection needs to be present. Being such a person, you often find yourselves alone in a crowd, filled with people, but not your people. There’s always a feeling of me and they because you never feel included, never feel like you are a part of it all, because the others are already there as one, but you are the loner again, the perennial outsider. They talk and they laugh, enjoying the moments, while you stand aside, wanting to disappear in the shadows. If only the shadows could take you to your people, the ones that bring real joy on your face and the laughs straight from the soul. 

I continue on my journey again, because one fine day, I am going to reach home, my real place where I can shed all the weights I carry and be myself. Let go of all my insecurities and troubles, let go of my need to be in control and rest my head on a caring shoulder, and travel into the midnight’s magic like it was all meant to be, at the right place and at the right time. One day, the definition of winter will change for me too. It shall bring all the happiness and joy that I looked forward to, it shall bring with it the sweet melodies, slow dances and pleasant days.  

On the cover page of one of my favorite novels by Agatha Christie, Endless Night, is a poem composed by William Blake which has stuck with me since I read it for the first time a decade ago. I am sharing the lines of it that struck a chord in my heart.

Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born.

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight,

Some are born to sweet delight,

Some are born to endless night. 

(Auguries of Innocence by William Blake)