And speaking of winters

Speaking of winters, I posted this last year at The Liberty Blog-

Lovat Fraser writing in 1903 had this to say* of Delhi winters-

I never dreamed of  this, and I cannot stand it. I should think there is nothing in the world like the cold of  Delhi. It is not that it is severe; it is the quality of  it that knocks you over. Dry cold in other places is invigorating and stimulating. This is a sort of  dead cold, and reduces you to a clammy corpse. It creeps in everywhere; the thickest overcoats are not proof  against it. From ten in the morning to five in the afternoon I live; then the climate is delightful. But that is just the time when I want to be out seeing things; and when I start at night to write, my brain is congealed. It will not work, not will my hand hold the pen. Do you know how I wrote my last letter? My servant kept replenishing a basin of  hot water on the table, and I dipped my fingers  into it at the end of  every sentence. How can I write decently under such conditions? And this is your coral strand! Never will I grumble at the English winter again.

*Lovat Fraser. At Delhi. Bombay: Times of India; London:W.Thacker&Co.,
1903. pp. 55-6.