It was named quite some names, even horrible ones, but the blizzard that struck the east coast had actually managed to cripple the great New York City. The great snowstorm of 2010 blanketed New York and beyond in thick snow left only wind and white in sight. It was a nightmare throughout the city and people did nothing but curse the city administration. It brought back the memories of February 2006 when a similar storm hit the city, however, it was not a blizzard.
We had all finished with a great Christmas, where the gang had thrown me a great surprise party and I was still basking in its happiness. I had made elaborate plans for the coming week till New Year with Yvonne and was really looking forward to them. But this time, it did not pour on my plans, it blizzard on them. We were lucky that my brother and his family had left early morning on the 26th.
With the storm gaining strength, we were left with no choice but to stay indoors and, knowing Yvonne, it was going to be a rough time. She hated staying indoors for longer times. Unlike cars in the other parts of the city, my car was not frozen in its tracks and it didn’t snow that bad in the Upper East Side but the wind was colossal and the visibility was virtually non existent so I couldn’t even try and move out the apartment should she lose her temper and decide to go out anyway. I was in desperate need of ideas, solutions, anything to keep her indoors and keep her calm. Something told me that just holding her to keep warm was not going to work this time. So I secretly called up everyone (from the bathroom, the bedroom, even the freezing terrace) for tips, but they were not much of help. But in the end, it would be mom who’d be having the perfect answer.
As I was sitting in the living room looking in desperation for an answer, the orchids plant in the balcony caught my eye. For me, it brought back the memories of mom and all the childhood stories that she told me. There was one particular story that I remembered very profoundly. Seemed like I was going to be the male version of Shahrazad that day. With a racing heart, I approached Yvonne on the couch and asked her if she’d like to listen to some stories. With an amused look, she agreed and I began the tales of ‘moi’. By the time I had finished my first childhood story, she was all excited to tell me her’s. And hence, we began the series of stories and went on through the night. When we slept, we both didn’t realize but found ourselves together cuddled on the couch in the morning.
A few days later, I read in some magazine that sharing personal stories can sometimes work wonders for couples.
