freebird

The air is different. You can smell it. Morning and especially in the evenings. Afternoons I am at work most of the time so can’t smell the difference in air conditioned claustrophobia. In Jamshedpur and also in Delhi, one felt its onset. The faint setting in of the chill, the leaves rustling on streets, dragging their half-green, half-yellow bellies to unknown destinations, in concert with the wind.

 Autumn is knocking on the door. And it is welcome. Autumn gives you excuses. To snuggle, to get close, to wrap yourself around yourself. And it is a welcome feeling. The heat and dust can be felt at the periphery and sometimes they do smile louder than usual. You sleep sounder in the mornings, the bedsheet an armour on standby.

Should one break the sleep, get up and turn off the fan or make use of the sheet…but where is it?…still not ready for autumn’s onset.  Post Diwali crackers the smoke mixes with the fog. Suspended it makes havoc. You wished it was not autumn for those days but even weather does not know itself.

Who guides the weather? Weather is not climate or season. It changes. A cosmic receptor. Unknown to us it hangs over us, its tentacles everywhere. Soaking wind, dust, smoke, hot, cold, cloud, hail, sun, rain, exhaust. Forever moving, soaking, speaking in a language that generations have tried to read and understand. It is like the flame. This flame dies to make the next flame. And we see one continuous flame.