December in London. Bone chilling cold. On top of that, a bitter northern wind had been blowing ceaselessly for the past couple of days. The wind was even visible to the naked like a moving bluish haze that spread over everything. The wind, rushing all the way from the frigid Tundra, was stabbing every part of the body with the severity of a sharp knife.
As if this wasn't enough, snow had begun to fall from midnight without a break. All around, one could only see the white expanse of the winter snow. That particular morning, the city's houses and streets outside the hotel window looked like a painted picture from a Christmas card. For the past three weeks, Hotel Seacock in London's Paddington area had been hosting a famous Bangladeshi painter, Nayan Choudhury.
