In response to daily post’s prompt : Calm
It was a calm Monday morning, I got dressed to go to my typing school. When I got out of the apartment, I had an eerie feeling,the sky looked unusually white. I ignored my feeling, took the bus to go to school. When I arrived I found the girls already there, practicing their typing. I went to my favorite desk and started typing.
Our instructor came after twelve, looked at me and said, ‘I hope you all have your boots there is a terrible snowstorm outside.’
A snowstorm? I repeated in my mind, what kind of a storm is a snowstorm? It was my first year in Montreal, I was yet to see snow, leave alone the compound word snowstorm.
I’m familiar with storms, I’m not totally ignorant except our storms were “Cyclones,” ones that blow down trees, houses, everything in its path, and continues for almost three days. It seems to me we had four seasons: Summer when it’s intensely hot; Winter, when we get fresh vegetables and fish, temperature is mild, not too hot not too cold either, but very pleasant. Then there is the Monsoon season, which inspired our beloved poet, Rabindranath Tagore to write songs welcoming the rain. Then there is the stormy season, which is responsible for wiping out villages along with its people.
I’m not sure of Spring and Fall, whether they exist at all I have no idea, there is no sure sign of it, like it’s in North America.
Coming back to Snow, well I thought I was in for a treat that day. I found it the hard way, “that a snowstorm is never a treat,” It’s a backbreaking affair when it comes to shoveling. I got out I was certainly not dressed for the grand occasion, I was wearing a sari and sandals, I cannot remember wearing a coat, heck it was November 13, you’d think my husband would caution me about the weather,but oh no, he wanted me to find out on my own.
There I was at the bus stop, waiting to go on board, but there were no buses, in fact they stopped running. I saw a cab, I raised my hand to stop him, he asked, “Where to?”
“Victoria Avenue,” was my reply.
“No ma’m,” the cab driver yelled out, “it’s too dangerous!”
Why is it dangerous, I thought are there robbers down there? No stupid my mind rebuked me, it’s too hilly, they want to avoid accidents. Gotcha I said.
In the meantime I’m stuck at Sherbrooke Street, what will I do? Finally my brain which froze in fear of the storm, suddenly thawed out, ‘Call your husband,’ it reminded me.
My husband wasn’t home but left instructions with his brother. I should stay in the building till he comes to get me. I waited two hours, there were some girls still in the building, one of them yelled, “Chaman, I think your husband is here!”
These were the sweetest words I heard after my ordeal!
I reminded myself,”Didn’t you hear about the Calm before the storm?