A fellow blogger recently pointed out to me (in the comments section of one of her blog posts) that in India, we don't get to see four distinct seasons, whereas in places like the United Kingdom and the northern parts of the United States, we do. It's true. In Delhi there was never any significant spring or autumn. Well, of course, if there's no autumn, then spring really doesn't belong in the cycle of things. But that's a separate story.
So here I was, just getting the feel of the fall season (that's what it's called in America) and just beginning to feel the nip in the air, when, out of nowhere, I get up in the morning, and my husband tells me that it's snowing outside. I thought that was just one of the random things he says sometimes for no apparent reason other than to amuse himself and me. But it wasn't. It was actually snowing. Not like a snowstorm or a blizzard, but just a few light snowflakes. Enough to give the grass a whitish touch. It was beautiful. Like one of those Hollywood movies with a story that takes place at Christmas time. It lasted only a very short while, and I did not go out there in my pyjamas, but just looking out of the window was great.
So, what do you know? It's winter already. And a colder winter than any that I've seen in Delhi!