The generosity of the weather gods draping my hometown Shimla, drop dead gorgeous in a pristine white blanket of snow, amidst a nearly life crippling situation and a spell of darkness over the last weekend, took me back to a similar scene of climate chaos that had overtaken our mundane lives. The scene was in the backdrop of a heavily snow clad small hill town in 1992. The winter was gearing up for a small mention in the pages of history. January had arrived, temperatures had dipped remarkably low and records were in the making. Life in the queen of hills was about to come to a standstill.

At around 10 a.m. on an icy cold and lazy morning, when I woke up to untouched, luminescent white surroundings, I knew that the weather forecast had been more than true. It hadn’t snowed like this before in the past few years.

Winter had arrived with a bang and life had taken a back seat. The tall and shady devdaars bent helplessly,  burdened with piles of frozen snowflakes, the slanting tin roofs adorned the heavily laden mattresses of snow, and the roads were covered with nature’s immaculately designed white carpet and a few footprints. All mute witnesses to the one time stimulating yet, dreary part of the long school winter holidays.

Everything seemed unappealing and utterly uninspiring; post that initial excitement of the first heavy snowfall of the season. There was snow, snow and only snow as far as my eyes could see. The aftermath soon followed. Candle light dinners, candle light conversations, candle light games, in fact, life was at the mercy of this cylindrical utility in wax. There was no power supply for over a week.

My working mother was stranded at home, catering to me and my younger sibling’s ‘nothing else to do’ routine, while every single day my father would walk for nearly two hours to cover a distance of about six kilometres to reach his office. With no snow cutters and public transport almost negligible, there was hardly any choice left.

The day’s time table didn’t stretch far beyond eating and sleeping in our two bedroom rented top floor flat, we called home. Or else we creatively indulged in our favorite outdoor sport of making snow balls of all sizes, in an attempt to hit each other as hard as possible. And every now and then gazing at the tubelight hoping it would sparkle and surprise us.

To rest was the best. For that matter, taking a regular bath was conveniently avoided. And by the way, heading for the toilet was another tough task to handle, as was obtaining water. The water pipes had jammed and a chunk of ice was melted time and again over the gas burner in our dimly lit kitchen, to attend to nature’s call.

No heaters to warm up, no geysers for hot water, and more importantly no television.  Please spare a moment to imagine how deeply uninteresting life could  turn in those months of long winter vacations, when there was nothing more to elevate our bored senses, except a weekly Chitrahaar, and a weekly movie on Doordarshan – the then sole source of entertainment.

That too was completely out of question, courtesy the state electricity department. Hindi film video cassettes that we hired occasionally, for a day, were also inaccessible.

How many snowmen could we make? How many books could we read, how many forced afternoon naps could we take or how many dull moments could we embrace? Without any close friends, cousins or an extended family around, my younger brother and I were entertainment starved. The period of deprivation was hard indeed.