Snow Bite

Just saw Fargo and on a day when the Californian sun is putting on teenage pop sensation airs and hiding somewhere behind the somber gray canvas, I can't help but admire the nonchalance of the cast in bounding about in more than ankle deep snow, from under my comforter. The 'true' story is set in Minnesota and North Dakota in the peak of winter, which couldn't have been too comforting for the Hollywood cast more at home sipping lemonade under the shade of tall palm Los Angelian trees.

Since moving to this 'promised' land, I have received copious grief from my fellow countrymen (mostly countrywomen actually) for not appreciating snow. Granted I lost my snow virginity as late as the first year of college, but the experience and the few ones after that that I have been through have failed to warm me to frigidophilia. Maybe it has something to do with that 3:00 am phone call I received on my barely functional dorm landline from a friend 'lucky' enough to be studying for a next day test in the library. Grumpy at first, and then shaking from the cold and the anticipation of the first sight of snow, I tittered my way to the window to be greeted by one of the most depressing sights since the visuals of Schindler's List. There was a lot of precipitation, which actually looked like the feces of a diarrhea afflicted herd of birds, falling from a surprisingly unnaturally lit sky, which hurt my sleepy eyes. I flopped back on my bed and snugly fell asleep under my warm sheets. The library friend was cross with me the next morning for not sliding down the frozen Hill in the middle of our campus, holding her hand (yeah yeah OK... I embellished the hand bit to spice things up) along with scores of other Asian students.

After graduating, I moved to this watershed (or should I say iceshed) of nothing of a place, much like the locales showcased in Fargo. No, I wasn't hiding from the FBI, but had landed a decent job there. At work too, I was hounded by apparently romantic Indian coworkers and called heartless and non appreciative of all those Yash Chopra Switzerland song sequences. The only thing worse than walking in the snow is driving in the snow, especially if your car is a rear wheel drive. But before you can drive, you have to scrape the windshield with something that you would rather use on 'romantic' coworkers at the time, while you let the engine heat up. If you think it's safer to take the highway home even though its a longer route, think again. Cars will crawl at a velocity of not more than 20 mph, yes on the highway! Snow tires are too expensive an option for a place that receives sporadic precipitation as 'legend' has it that it used to be a desert 200 years ago. And apparently, ensuring roads devoid of snow is also an expensive option for the state government, more expensive than the lives of a few paltry inconsequential drivers.

I am glad to say that I had to contend with only one winter there, and today aside, winter hardly feels like its cold self here in California. Winter here is more like the one you would find in Delhi, albeit a few degrees lesser. I have lesser demons with that than with that white slushy poison flowing through the heartland of the country. So, if any of my prospective future brides is reading this by any slim chance, you can forget about that honeymoon trip to Vienna, or that Alaskan cruise, or even that shikara ride in the Dal Lake, honey.