This morning after waking up, I drew the curtains and it was rains, outside waiting for us. The sun had bidden us goodbye, not even pretending to hide behind clouds, only a cold wind penetrating my insides as I silently stepped into my bedroom’s tiny balcony. A chill trickled down my oiled hair, a tiny nip crept up my toes. The cold was here and the cold was mine, chai, rusks and all.

Then came the “Food”.

The handcart in front of my 2017-2020 office in Central Delhi offered several winter delicacies. They all included copious amounts of sugar, gur and peanuts. The cart, sometimes replaced by a roadside stall, almost always had a low-lit flame buried inside a heaping pile of peanuts. Sometimes in place of the peanuts was popcorn. Desi, bulbous popcorn. The one I had grown up buying off from the street and having. Surprising how popcorn worth Rs5 for a large paper bag now only costs Rs10.