Mist

Why is it that mist suddenly makes everything seem more mysterious and beautiful?
Why is it that the sun seems milder and more inviting through that winter veil?
Why is it that hills look lovelier, the grass a more beautiful green?
Why does even my dull house take on new dimensions?

Why do we think more fondly of friends not with us?
Why do we remember with longing moments that are past?
Why does love lost seem so much more desirable?
Why are chances not taken so much more regretted?

Do I only like the mist because it veils reality?
Do I only like poetry because it is not as stark as prose?
Do I like fiction because it is not fact?
Do I like dreaming because it keeps me from life?

Or is it because reality behind the mist seems much more meaningful,
Because the destination seems worth the journey,
Because the meeting seems worth the waiting,
And life is so much more worth living when it has a sprinkle of romance...

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

I had written this a year ago, and was reminded of it when we rode home some nights ago... While winter is Delhi is a different experience altogether - the biting winds, the thicker-than-soup fog, and the days at post-graduate school it reminds me of - the mist that has appeared and the cold wind that has been blowing the last few nights seem to promise that winter is descending on Pune...