CHAUBURJI Winter happens to be my favourite month. Winter clothes not only hide my expanding aistline, but also give me additional recesses to accommodate my odds and ends. Winter also brings back memories of six decades ago, when Lahore was not a concrete jungle and houses were heated by working fireplaces. These fireplaces were a work of art. Topped by carved wooden mantle pieces and containing iron grates, they were built to create an updraft and stop smoke from escaping into the room. They were also great fun for children, especially if constructed back to back using a common chimney. Like the speaking tube of old, one could speak into one end and be heard clearly down the other in the next room. The carbon deposits on the walls above the grate often caught fire into what appeared to be a Lilliputian torch procession moving from one point to the other. The greatest thrill of a fireplace was lighting the fire itself - first went the crumpled newspapers, these were topped by thin wooden pieces or kindling known as chowday and last came wood chopped into foot long logs. The match was struck with the children pressing forward in excitement, watching as the newspaper caught fire setting the kindling alight, which in turn lit the logs. Evenings were generally spent sprawling on the carpet in front of the fire, playing caroms or cards and munching peanuts. On extremely cold nights, dinner was taken on a dastar khwan in front of the blaze. Many Lahoris used kangris to beat the cold. The kangri probably came to Lahore from Kashmir and consisted of a small hand carried bowl-like terracotta container, encased in ornate wicker work. Red hot coals were put into this container and one or more people could carefully tuck the contraption inside a quilt or razai and enjoy the heat. Winter meant that it was time for the matriarchs of the family to begin preparing panjiri and attay ke ladoo with dry fruit and desi ghee. These mouth-watering preparations would then be stored for daily use throughout the cold months. My paternal grandmother would make something called satora, a halwa-like preparation that featured ginger, pistachio and God knows what else. This delicious, but rich confection was jealously stored in a jar, which became a favourite target for 'foraging children. Chilly weather also brought with it the mouth-watering sight of 'hunter beef in Tollington Market. This incomparable roast was prepared from prime undercut and cured with spices and saltpetre before being put in the oven. As evening fell and the chill took over, small bonfires would appear in street alcoves inside the walled city. These fires would attract young and old alike amid good natured conversation interspersed with an occasional burst of a Punjabi refrain. Dropping temperatures heralded the sight of dhussas and a special brand of headgear with woolly hair-like covering, called a kantope. The dhussa was a thick and expansive male shawl made of cotton mixed with wool, which served as an outer covering. It was traditionally worn in a wrap around mode referred to as a bukkal. The kantope had a square opening up front with a button-like thing on the top. It could be worn on the head as a normal cap or pulled right down over the face till the whole head was covered down to the neck with only the eyes, nose and mouth visible through the 'window. My grandfather often wore this kantope in winters, as did other senior members of the family living in the old city. Like all other traditional things, the use of these caps has declined. Winter also brought a change in Lahori food and drink. Cold beverages were replaced by yakhni and kashmiri tea and gaajar ka halwa appeared on every menu. The naan kebab shops did roaring business, as did establishments that specialised in piping hot siri payay and nihari. Regretfully, winter in Lahore has changed, like many other things Lahori. Fog aggravated by pollution now engulfs the city frequently and the severity of the cold weather has been affected by the concrete jungle, the city has now become. Gone are the hearths sporting log fires and kangris are museum pieces. Gone also are the family activities that hallmarked winter evenings - in fact winter memories have now become nothing, but winter tales. The writer is a freelance columnist.