Deformed Perfection

The sun is merciless these days; heating everything around with the temperament lose every now and then, waiting for the winter to come. Good for me, but the melancholy it brings often puts me in dejection— like a long-lost love reappearing only to poke the wound and make it bleed a little longer.

But I cannot but fall in love with winter— wrapping myself with more clothes as the cold intensifies gives me a feeling of winning over the weather which cannot be achieved with other seasons and that upsets me like nothing else. However, my preference may not suit others, and there are tens of thousands of people who fear winter as it approaches of the chill it sents down the spine every morning and whole night.

Still, there is beauty in those chilling moments— enjoying the first light of the sun from the comfy bed is a thing to behold. A cup of tea with mild warmth or the steamed pie in the evening with spicy sauce— spending days under the blanket is satisfying enough to fall in love with it from the first day to the last.

And those, who wake up early in the morning ignoring the winter’s bite enjoy the most scenic thing any morning has to offer. Millions of dew drop at every tip of the grass amuse the eyes, make the heart content, and delight the mind to the fullest. If it’s a foggy morning, then the enjoyment is doubled.

All those fancies, do not delight the poor, homeless people. They watch the sun rising every other day but it doesn’t make them feel any different. They walk barefoot every morning touching the dew drops but they fail to give a sensation of contentment to these souls— for that their hearts have stilled after years of being exposed to the harsh winter; or say, the year round. The sun that brings a glimpse of hope in winter burns them to death during summer. Their constant cries to find a little comfort never reaches our ears. And us; we retreat to the shade and turn on the AC to escape the wrath of the sun or wear all the fancy clothes to embrace the winter in open arms.

For some reason, the sun becomes very miserable during winter but comes with full force during summer— a very natural thing that balances and keeps things in order. Perfectly normal, nothing to complain about, right?

But ask those people living under the open sky, around the corner of your street— they have thousands of complaints against God; the benevolent One. To them, His benevolence is only reserved for the people with all the money in the world. To them, winter or summer is not the name of a different season but a readjusted level of misery.

You won’t know what it’s like to be one of them unless you live in that street waiting for a gust of wind to blow away the heat or a ray of sunshine to add little warmth to their cold-bitten body— neither do I. But I have seen it from close. I have seen the struggle to feel the warmth of the sun of those people sleeping on the overbridge— a futile attempt to touch the sunshine from under the old and shrivelled blanket; an attempt to feel the intensity of the heat to determine if it’s time yet to get out and face the daily struggle of fetching foods at least for once.

They make my heart ache but somehow go away in a moment knowing that someone has to suffer to understand how lucky you are.

Photo by Shawn Rain on Unsplash