where the writers are
Looking for an unknown autumn
autumn and me

Dust and soot greeted me on my return. I could have pitched a tent. My gypsy self came back...to what? It had been a longish time away from home.

I ran my fingers over the table top. A tiny film of black stared at me. The portion where I had run my finger was now bare glass; I could now see through it. Looking at floors through smoked glass amongst the patches of dust is an experience. Everything appears altered. The floor is a small strip; you are not sure which part of the glass is for real -- the one with dust or the clean bit; as for the dust, it seems to overwhelm you. Even as you clean it, there are trails of it left, on your hands, on mops, in the air.

I reconcile myself to remnants. The fact that having left something and then returning to it to find it covered gives an indication of how we can be overtaken and ensnared.

A bunch of letters were waiting. Greeting cards, bills, pizza promotions, offers for diaries/calendars. I preserve most. It is gratifying.

A pizza outlet wants me. And whatever would happen to the year if I do not legitimise it with a desktop calendar, never mind that I lose track of Time?

I threw open the windows. The air was still, the wind-chime silent. I shook it. It made a laryngitis-like sound. Perhaps the metal was rusting and those little thingies hanging down were numb from disuse.

I tied the cord to the curtain and something fell. I assumed it to be a piece of jute from the threads. I picked it up gingerly. A flaky dried cockroach was what I ended up holding. How fearless one becomes! There was a little leg, thin as hair. Perhaps I was ridding myself of the past, after all...one leg at a time.

The bamboo plant was supposed to live forever. You did not have to care for it, water it...it grew and grew. But this time it did not. The roots were dead, sodden and sullen. The stems drooped and the leaves had turned brown.

And to think I travelled all the way hoping to see Fall!

Is it self-destructive to see things die? Or is it a hope for rejuvenation?

I took a picture of two trees – one with Fall colours, the other tall, proud and green. They stood together.

Nothing ends if it ever existed.

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Nothing ends if it ever existed.

"Nothing ends if it ever existed" but get transformed and keeps on moving ahead. Farzana,don't you know that things resuscitate and come to life again when you embrace them with your warm affection and die when they feel abandoned?You heard of" the green hand" didn't you?This time you abandoned your autumn so it faded.


PS Watch my film "Duel" It's a funny western I made when I was a teenager.


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I did not abandon

It wasn't my autumn, to begin with. And I travelled all the way for it. What I returned to was a reminder that nothing lasts. My warm embrace was always there;I wish it had felt it.


PS: Hammoudi, my network connection is not all that great, so I shall find ways to watch your film. I like a good duel!