Delhi winters, Bengali ‘ki shit,’ ghost tales, and the judge’s wig

Delhi winters have a personality of their own. It’s a biting chill that seems to seep straight into your bones. Only those will understand who have experienced it. The famous saying, “Dilli ki Sardi,” captures it perfectly.

It’s a season where the sun prefers to play hide-and-seek, often losing out to fog and smog, while you huddle under layers of woollens, clinging to endless cups of steaming tea or coffee, or say room heaters like a lifeline. But room heaters too barely manage to warm your toes. It’s a love-hate relationship, really, a season Delhiites love to hate and hate to love.

A childhood friend, Bengali of course, now a long-time Delhi-NCR resident, never fails to exclaim, “ki shit!” every winter. Bengalis have an amusing obsession with the phrase “ki shit,” which literally translates to “what cold.” It’s their go-to expression every winter, delivered with dramatic flair, as if the weather personally offended them. The irony? They will say it with the same gusto even after decades of living in Delhi, where winter’s bite is far worse than anything back home. For them, “ki shit” isn’t just a phrase — it’s an emotion, a declaration, and sometimes, a cry for help, all rolled into one.

My friend is quick to warn everyone to stay far from Delhi during the biting cold, even though he himself refuses to leave. Having spent nearly three decades in Delhi, I know this city’s winter better than most, yet his dramatic aversion always amuses me.

And then there’s his cap. Every winter, without fail, he dons a cap that looks hilariously like a British judge’s wig — an heirloom passed down from his pishemoshai (uncle).The cap sits awkwardly on his head. It looks both regal and absurd, yet, he wears it with this misplaced sense of pride. We tease him mercilessly, of course. But no amount of teasing will make him part with it. It’s his winter tradition, and he’s sticking to it, thus leaving us to laugh like mad at his endearing eccentricity.

So he is the kind of friend who shows up unannounced at every festival, his cheerful presence both exasperating and endearing. And dear hubby, ever the gracious host, will promptly prepare tea with rich, creamy milk for him. But my friend — predictable as ever — only drinks black tea. Yet, he happily slurps the milky concoction without a word of protest, as if it were his favourite brew all along. He is a delightful contradiction — a man of unshakable habits who effortlessly adapts to any situation, a notorious gentleman who charms his way through life’s little inconveniences with an easy smile.

And then there’s Kumari Didi, my ever-resourceful helping hand, who never runs out of excuses to arrive late in winter. This season, her latest invention? Ghosts. According to her, winter is their peak activity season, and venturing out late at night is practically inviting them home for tea. “They love this weather,” she says with an air of certainty that’s hard to argue with.

Curious, I teased her, “But aren’t ghosts scared of Delhi’s winters?”

With wide eyes and a quick “Ram Ram!” she scolded me, her sincerity so convincing I almost believed her — and maybe even the ghosts!

But honestly? Ghosts are the least of anyone’s worries. The real scare is the bone-chilling cold that creeps into your very soul. Visibility drops to nothing in the foggy mornings, trains crawl late, flights get delayed, and yet, life in Delhi doesn’t stop. People mostly office goers, brave the biting cold like warriors, battling smog, traffic, and that ever-present nip in the air.

At home, geysers hum all day, struggling to keep up. House helps, wrapped in their mismatched shawls mop the floors with shivering hands, often need hot water for the task — and sometimes it helps if you provide them with a warm cup of milk before they begin their work — a little act of kindness just to survive this season together.

Delhi winters, no doubt — are inconvenient, relentless. And at times downright cruel, unbearable. But they are uniquely ours — chaotic, unpredictable, but strangely endearing, much like the city itself.