“This is my December” Linkin Park
“I go back to December all the time” Taylor Swift.

 

Ah the fog, the morning haze, the warm blankets, the hot coffee (or tea, in my case), chilghoze, mongphalee, sootay, batchi se breakup and the cheesily romantic poetry that clutters our Facebook is what makes December, December. And we all love December for it, right?

NOT ME!

Personally, I hate it. I’m more of a January guy ; new beginnings and all. Something about imperfect endings, “dementory” cold, this aura of depression, the suspension of donkey/horse/bull shit particles in the morning fog which makes it more cold (the fog, not the shit) , neend ka na ana, mid-season finales of my favorite shows, has biased me into loathing this otherwise fine as fuck month.

If it were up to me, I’d write a marsia “Wake me up when December ends” and pour my heart out in it about all things dreary. But the copyrights of the name “Wake me up when *insert random month name* ends” are owned by Greensday.

Introverted sociopath that I (self-proclaimed) am, I hate the fact that everyone digs out their moth eaten hoodies, reeking of atechi vali stench and goes about impersonating ghetto homeboys or those emo looking parrot offsprings. We get it, you listen to hippity hop/punk rock/grunge.

Then there is the dry skin factor, bhenchod itnee kharish hotee he jese khal pe keeriyan chal rahee hon . There are also the clogged sweat ducts that make winter workout impossible for me. As soon as I am about to break sweat, I break into a series of jitters. Said jitters being caused by excessive itching and it looks like I am doing the breakdance that I could never do.

I wish for an eternal winter, like the one in Narnia, and December, while being a perfect epitome of all things cold and curt, proves the infallibility of “tempus fugit”  thus I hate it. BC ye sardi aye or literally ye gye .

The days, on top of it all, are so short that I feel like I am a character in The Sims. Even by Sims time standards, our wintery time passes as if it were the loose motion of a laxative drunk, dysenteric person.

I hate you December, I do hate you so much. You are so bewafa and so beautiful at the same time. I love walking  in the  cool drizzly fog at 11 in th night, I love curling up in my cozy af blanket with the Harry Potter books and a PB & J sandwich with coffee. I love the fact that you force all the batchis out there to cover their skin ( yes, Mr. Righty Tightey Whitey here).  I love the fact that people can finally mistakenly dismiss the cigarette smoke as foggy breath.

But it hates you winter, Sméagol, hates you too. I wish you’d last longer, #ThatsWhatSheSaid.

“jitney sard din hote hein utne logon k dil garam ho jatey hein.”

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