Walk in the Wind

I walked in the cold wind today. It of course ruffled my hair and made me shiver and added a shrill bleat to my voice, but little did I figure, that in its anaesthetic numbness, it was injecting a pain in my left knee that would come alive when my limbs warmed up considerably under the blanket.

The first tinge of sensation entered my toes and base of foot just a few moments ago. I know now, more than I’ve known in years, what the word ‘warm’ connotes. My fingers can type again. Efficiently, swiftly. I can differentiate pain from itch and itch from that physical feeling of unfeeling. I feel the vapour of my breath fill up this little tent propped up on my knees at one end and my head at the other.

The smells come alive. The vague stench of the salwar worn all day, which I’m half lazy to change, the sweat, the faint flavour of my toothpaste, the staleness of my day-old washed hair. They all seem to be in conversation, as if to condemn the contents of the book that lies in my lap – open yet bookmarked.

Thank god the tent is lined with a quilt designed out of my mother’s sari on the inside. It makes the shelter, even if makeshift, homely.

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