The Addiction

Rich Autumns & Ithe.png
This post is a little bit personal. So, I am not sure about what to say exactly.
I took the last few months away from Twitter, and practiced being me, and not being Rich Autumns. I was in India for some time and in Kashmir for some time. But mostly, I was occupied in creating a space for myself where Rich Autumns would not join in.
I had to be me, find myself a name. My old name.

So I decided to quit this blog and Twitter. I had started this blog as a space to write random things, little things about Kashmir and let it be free, let it take its own space and expression.

But this time away was tough. I found that I missed Rich Autumns. I missed the person who wrote these words on the blog. So in private moments, I passed Rich Autumns around like a joint. Reminiscing. Thinking. Wondering. I missed the stranger.

Regular readers here (and there were not many to begin with) would know the stranger as a nameless entity. His physical being is not important. The stranger is a creature of smoke and shadows. He appears and disappears like love and happiness in everyone’s life. He leaves behind a pang of sadness in his trail. A sadness that is as romantic as dreamy it is.

The fact is that the entity of Rich Autumns has afforded me a cloak in which I could disappear. Beat myself down to the bone and enshroud myself in words that only I could write to myself. These are very private moments floating openly without shame. Like unsigned love letters in newspapers.

But these are hardly my words, these are Rich Autumns’ words and on my own I could not say them. There is a certain hesitation with which I would say them, but when I don the cloak, Rich Autumns writes its own words. Free and careless. And, true. Words are a strange magic. They flow unrestricted in sadness and with checks in happiness. Right now, as my life passes in front of my eyes there is nothing that I could pick apart and own. There is nothing that gives me a sense of ownership or the happiness of its contentment. Except, Rich Autumns.



We Are Here: Moving from Blogger to WordPress


You brought it on, Blogger. Dont blame me now! Send my love to your new lover, and treat her better.

You know how the time flies. Five years, five long years. Does that mean nothing to you? I was so young, so naive, so new. Why else would I be writing things like this or this? This was me, five long years ago. With you. Happy! Only yesterday was the time of our lives. We were born and raised, in this autumn glaze.

I had never been so happy as I was when I found you. We went through hard times together. Does that even mean anything to you now? Don’t you remember?

I finally found a name in you. People knew me from you. “Where is Rich Autumns?” they’d ask. “Blogger, of course!”. And you in a big way are the person in making me Rich Autumns. But now that seems, like a million years ago, when we were younger and free.

But, I cant put up with this anymore. It’s not like I didn’t try. I installed and uninstalled your useless app twice. Twice. Do you even realise the misery of downloading apps on Android phones with limited memories. Well, of course you do. I know I have a fickle heart and a heaviness in my chest, but I cant keep up with your turning tables anymore.

Dear blogger, I am leaving you. And, I don’t even have the nerve to say it thrice.

But I cant help feeling we could have had it all. The Americans and the Russians and the occasional visitor from Slovenia. I could stay there, close my eyes, feel you here forever! Along with the people who wander on to the blog looking for apple season in Kashmir and reach here.

Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?

I miss the customization Blogger had. Its all white walls here. Bare and empty. Look, dont get me wrong. I loved that you allowed me to alter whatever I wanted. But then, you removed the Dashboard and you wont reply to may queries. I mean what part of “the new layout sucks!” is hard for you to get. I can’t give you, what you think you gave me. It’s time to say goodbye to turning tables. I left behind all the memories of being read and noticed. And totally ignored.

But I’ve been walking the same way as I did. No one knows me like you do. But if I can’t make you feel my love, I think it is best to move on.


Hold me like I’m more than just a friend,

Rich Autumns