The Autumn Bliss Of Diwali, And All That Comes After… Brings On Nostalgia

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

Born in India, Rashmi Bora Das moved to the United States in the early nineties.

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