Bookmark #580

It is the end of autumn, and the trees are all trying to remind us of this in different ways. Some have their flowers out right about now. While spring has a monopoly over joy and life, autumn is not too far behind. In many ways, they are siblings, each responsible for setting the mood for what comes next. Spring tells us to get ready for warmer days, to go out and live amidst all the colour. Autumn tells us the importance of staying put, of conserving our energy. The year was long, it reminds us. There is wisdom in slowing down. And slow down we do; slow down, I have.

It had rained in the evening if we consider a ten-minute drizzle to be rain. But whatever it was, it made me notice how all the roads in the city are paved once again, which, in turn, reminded me of talking to a cab driver who swore on his life that the streets would all be back to how they used to be by the time October ends—everything good is always waiting for the rains to stop. I did not know why he thought this way, but at the time, frustrated as I was, I did not believe him and said something cross about the administration. I wish I could tell him he was right, but small as this city is, there are so many people you never meet again.

Random things like these always make me curious, and for a second, I believe in something larger. A second: that is the extent and expiry of my faith. But for the faithless, even a second is enough. For those who do not believe in anything but their choices and consequences, even a second is respite. The year is slowly ending, and I want to thank someone for all the good, but there is no God in my life, and to thank oneself more than on a couple of occasions is a slippery slope to vanity. And so, like it is with all things, once again, I am suspended.

As I grapple with this specific aloneness, I hear autumn’s last whisper whistle about. I pour myself a drink and stand on the balcony grass, thoughtless, with my glass on the marble sill. It has been a most subtly eventful year, and now, it is winter again, and while I do not yet know who deserves the credit for it, standing here, I know only one thing: I have been happy, and nothing else matters.

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