december, briefly

Everyone becomes a better version of themselves in December. More patient at traffic lights. More generous about the fog, which makes everything late and nobody particularly minds. Delhi in December smells like woodsmoke and damp grass and something else I don't have a name for. Nostalgia, maybe, generically applied. I wore a sweater today for the first time since March. It's the grey one. My mother gave it to me three years ago and I wore it so much the elbows are thin. I should replace it. I won't. There's a man who sells groundnuts near Khan Market in December. Roasted, in newspaper cones. I buy one every year. It's the only thing I look forward to about winter and I have never told anyone this.