December Dust and Dive Bars

Arambh Dabre- SYBA

December Dust and Dive Bars

The cold winds of December never felt harsh; they always felt like a comforting hug (why must all hugs be warm?). The cool breeze on open roads blowing on your face, and you soothing your throat with that robust filter coffee at 7:17 a.m. That's how December mornings are: raw and soulful.

The December dust is never appealing ,those micro-shrapnels entering your nose, giving you a hard sneeze strong enough to leave a sharp pain in your nostrils. The dusty maidans and those corn vendors selling tangy, spicy mixes to school kids. I often wonder whether their own children feel the same joy while eating, or if they eat simply to fill their empty bellies.

December puts you in thoughts

Will the kids of the lady selling Santa caps ever receive gifts?

Will the halogen bulb of the street vendor selling fairy lights survive till the end of the year?

Mankind has long found an escape potion for these realities, and you can find it in every corner of the earth.

Dive bars, though, are the most prominent keepers of this potion. Enter a dive bar in town and there will be a moment when you feel it holds all the intellect in the world; philosophy, politics, war, crime, society, everything discussed over cheap rum and grains and meat tossed in Schezwan. These places are a warm escape for those who fear the cold nights of December. Surviving the day, adjusting in crowds, living at the edge, questioning life.