After a relentless struggle against the forces that controlled everything from the heavens, the sky unburdened itself under the watchful eyes of the sun who seemed to be in deep slumber for three or four days. What I saw in the morning was something that I have read only in books and newspapers now and then. The snowfall in Vancouver was so thick that one could see only whitewashed houses, whitewashed vehicles, whitewashed gardens and roads all along. It was as if someone as had poured pots and pots of dough (something like idily maavu as the South Indians call it!). It may be a routine annual affair in a place like Vancouver, but not to me.
Hereafter, I will be less excited whenever I see frost all over Ooty during winter. “It is very cold up here, if you want to experience bone chilling winter, you have to be here”, I used to tell my kith and kin. “But, it is not the chillness which is special, but the frost. It is as if somebody has scattered salt on the hills and meadows (Of late it is confined to the race course alone) ”. This is not to belittle the beauty of this hill station – it is not for nothing they used to call Ooty the queen of hill stations.