The Secret of Snowflakes


Far away in a little hut, huddled against a fluffy dog sat a little girl seeking warmth from the dead remains of the fire. Outside a little frosted window she could see snow falling in tender flaky forms. Enchanting! She thought. ‘Where does these beautiful patterns come from?’ wondered the little girl aloud, startling her big dog. She opened the wooden door and came out into the open. Behind her the dog came bounding in a playful mood, barking and snapping at the delicate snowflakes which fell on its wet black nose. Beautiful webbed patterns, gently crafted with the tiniest possible strand of snow. A little snowflake eased on the little girl’s nose and did not melt away like other flakes when the girl touched it with her bare hand. She closed her eyes and the next thing she knew, she was flying in the air with the flake still perched on her nose. She closed her eyes again and kept on flying, thinking it was a dream.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself on a bed made of clouds with beautiful and tender curtains at her sides. She could not help exclaiming when she found out that the curtains were made up of many snowflakes weaved together with a thread of ice. A little sniff diverted her attention from the snow curtain to a large white desk where sat an elderly young man. Elderly, because of his moonlight silver hair and beard and young, because of the enthusiasm and concentration in his ice blue eyes. He looked majestic in the white flowing cloak he wore. Curiously, the girl tip toed to the desk so as not to disturb and to know where the man devoted his concentration to. What she saw astonished her. With the finest and strangest tools the girl had ever seen, the man was working furiously fast with an unworldly calm on a little snow ball. The tools were scintillating and reflecting little rainbows from its fine edges.
The girl studied the man and stood still admiring his concentration.
‘What do you think?’ said the man startling the girl.
‘Huh?’
‘What do you think of my work? It is a new pattern I have been working on and you are the first one to see it.’
The girl looked down at the desk and where a snow ball stood was now a beautifully delicate snow flake.
‘It’s the prettiest thing I have ever seen.’ gasped the girl.
‘Thank you Mary. It is very kind of you.’
‘How do you know my name, dear sir? Who are you?’
‘Oh! I am so sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I am the designer of snow flakes. People on earth know me as God.’
Still thinking of this episode as a dream, the girl tried not to show any surprise but failed. She stood awkwardly staring at him with her mouth agape. She recovered soon and went along with him to take a tour of his office. When the shock wore off completely, God made her sit down on an ivory chair.
‘God, you must be so busy. Looking after everyone on earth and making the world a better place. Where do you find the time to craft these delicate and pretty flakes?’ asked little Mary innocently.
‘Child, I know that you are the happiest when you play with snow and admire my snow flakes. And I like to make you happy so I make these patterns for you and millions of other people who like to share joy with me. Keeping you all happy keeps me happy. And now dear Mary, would you like to know how I make these snowflakes?’
‘Oh! I have always wanted to know. Do tell me almighty God.’
‘You just saw me create a pattern. The tools I use are made up of silver which lend a shimmer and sheen to the flakes and then I put life into them.’
‘The snowflakes are alive?!’
‘Oh yes, Mary! How else do you think they melt on touch? But don’t think they die. They just come back to me.’
‘Can I not make these flakes stay as beautiful they are for a little longer so that I can admire them a bit more?’ asked Mary genuinely.
‘Of course you can. There is a little magic trick. But I would want it to be a secret between us. Do you promise to let it be that way?’
‘Yes dear God. I promise.’
‘Okay then. Listen hard. Before touching these little pieces of snowflakes, just wink at them and they’ll be in your hand intact, for a longer time. Now that you know my secret, I hope you will enjoy it Mary.’
‘I sure will kind God’
‘Would you like to take a closer look at this flake I just made?’
And Mary held the tender art piece in her hand gently and she felt herself flying again. This time she woke up in her own bed. Little Mary peaked out of the window and ran out of the house when she saw that it was snowing. She held her breath and winked hard at a flake. The snow piece landed on her outstretched hand and shone brightly, as if winking back at her. Mary was awestruck by the exquisite beauty of the snow crystal and kept admiring it until it melted away.
But Mary was not sad seeing it melt. She knew she was the most blessed girl on earth because she now shared a secret with God. The secret of snowflakes.

Bus route 234

SCENE I

I was standing with a friend on Roop Nagar bus stand waiting for the bus to take us to the metro station with huge black and pink umbrellas over our head. We were already late for our first lecture in college. The bench at the stand was slimy and wet due to last night’s heavy rain but there was a lot of green color around. Only a few more girls, presumably college students, with hand bags and dressed in salwaar kameez were there. I and my friend were having casual small talk while waiting for our ride

NEHA: Traveling by bus is so cheap. We just have to pay Rs. 3 whereas by rickshaw it costs us ten bucks.

ME: Very true yaar. Just a little bit of inconvenience, that too if the bus is crowded otherwise it’s the best bet. I save a lot of my pocket money.

NEHA: Route no. 108 suits us best. But there is 234 as well, which is a bit stuffed but its frequency is better than that of 108. No?

ME: Yeah. I hope the bus comes soon. We are already 10 minutes late. Khanna ma’am will kill us if we are later. Let’s take a rickshaw if the bus doesn’t come in 5 minutes.

Just then a rickety DTC bus, route no. 234, rumbled along the wet road. It was stuffed like an overstuffed aaloo ka parantha with people ‘leaking’ out of the bus like aaloo coming out of the sides. The bus was dangerously tilted to one side owing to some school boys who preferred to hang at the pedestal rather than standing inside the bus. Both of us looked at each other, sighed, folded our umbrellas and proceeded towards the bus.

SCENE II

Getting inside the bus from hind gate was one hell of a Herculean job. The school children were wolf whistling at us and some of the other passengers were looking at us as if we were intruding in their private property. I was feeling so proud of having accomplished the heavy task of boarding the bus that I gave Neha a clap on her back but was stared dangerously by an elderly uncle on whose back I had accidentally thumped. I mumbled a quick sorry and quickly turned away. I had a wet backpack hanging on my right shoulder, the wet black clumsily folded umbrella in my right hand, and a Rs. 5 coin in my left hand for the ticket. The bus was in a very bad shape with grills missing from the windows, paan stains here and there, the black seat cover, once red, was torn at many places. There was no question of finding a seat. Hundreds of faces in colorful and monotonous colors were seen but the conductor was nowhere in sight. If he would have been at the other end, it would have been impossible for him to find his way till the back. Finally, after many jerks and stops, we reached the metro station.


SCENE III

We got off from the bus. The red and white pavement was decorated with cow dung by our mother cows (and father bulls) and brown and red paan stains and all sorts of wrappers and poly bags and many other assorted items. But to our surprise there was a team of government officials dressed in dirty while shirts and black pants sporting rubber chappals. They were hurrying after all the passengers who had alighted from the bus and were questioning them in a strict manner. We tried to slink away but a shrewd looking officer, strongly smelling of cigarette smoke and huge black framed spectacles caught us and addressed us in the funniest English we had ever heard.

OFFICER: Show your ticket. Hurry, hurry. Show ticket. Me from DTC want to see ticket. No ticket? Ticket? Show. Now.

NEHA (looking frightened): Sir, please sir. We are getting late for college sir. Please sir. The conductor didn’t come for the ticket. The bus was so crowded. There was no way to buy a ticket. Look, I had the change ready for it.

ME (trying hard not to laugh): Sir, we bought a ticket. But we threw it inside the bus only. I promise sir, we had the ticket.

OFFICER: Girls try fool me? Bad. One say no ticket, one say lost? Making an ullu of me? You’ll pay penalty. Take out a 100.

NEHA (almost hysterical): Rs. 100? Sir, its too much sir. Please trust us sir, the bus was very crowded. What I meant was that first we couldn’t take the ticket and then we bought it---

OFFICER: --Lie not. Think you smart? Sign this chit and pay Rs. 100.

I consoled Neha and took out a 100 rupee note from my purse. Neha did the same. A smile of satisfaction danced on the officer’s lips. With a quick ‘good day’ he marched off to catch other unwary people.
In order to save Rs. 10 we had to pay Rs. 100. This remains my worst experience till date.