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Autumn. Fall. The pleasant time before winter sets in, when the festive season blooms in all its glory. Not just in India, but in most countries.
The crunchy red leaves, the rustling breeze beckon to me as I lazily lie, ensconced in the silence of a fall afternoon. My constant companion stubbornly refuses to leave my side. Soulful melodies from a legend gone long ago drown our ears. In candid confidence, we make a promise to traverse the miles, ten thousand and more, to random places here and there. Our silent footsteps unheard in the hustle and bustle of that busy town we left ages ago. We catch a glimpse of Grandpa with his glasses under the porch in his rocking chair, happily reciting the sermons and hymns that are his life’s core. Across the majestic river, walking on the white sands, we bow in prayerful reverence to Lord Krishna, tenderly nestled in that temple of yore. Tangy and spicy, the savory snacks at the street side joints pamper our tastebuds as we relive the crazy antics of adolescent years. The evening, illuminated by the lamps lit on Diwali night, brings smiles and cheer as we rejoice. And at the end, through those narrow alleys we gather under a roof where familial fondness gladdens our hearts, wrapping us in heavenly joy! A long stretch we walked today, hand in hand. A sweet exhaustion descends as we come back to the cradle of the present time. Nostalgia, are you a dirty liar as they call you? Not for me! My constant companion, you drenched me in those moments that I had clung on to now and then with obstinate firmness. A lurking desire I have to go back once again to those seconds, minutes, hours we sojourned, while you lull my senses with the pleasant warmth of autumn bliss.
A version of this was first published here.
Image source: Canva
Rashmi Bora Das is a freelance writer settled in the suburbs of Atlanta. She has a master’s degree in English from India, and a second master’s in Public Administration from the University of read more...
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