baby it's cold out there

H'm... being driven through the streets of Delhi in one of those bone-shakers: the ageing ole autorickshaw on a windy winter evening with not much woolies on the carcass is a challenging proposition.... until a small underfed hand thrusts a two-rupee tabloid under your nose at one of the interminable red traffic lights and two large eyes stare out cheerfully from a mop of soot-black hair ... and then you're thinking of this smllish lad dodging the traffic, inhaling the traffic fumes and smog trying hard to peddle his two-bit angrezi newspaper... and you know he'll hardly make enough to get some warm broth inside him... and suddenly you can't help feeling like old Scrooge in Dicken's timeless classic...

so your blue mood disappears, you ruffle the black mop and hand the kid a five rupee note and how the heart warms up at the look of glee and utter disbelief that greets you.... yes, it's Christmas once again...

and the glow that you get from paying trubute to the kid that knows he's not gonna stop the rain by compainin'... the glow is so warm... that you can take on Delhi, the smog, the utter chaos that masquerades as traffic...

and suddenly, the cold winter nite has lost its bite........