Rich Autumns & I
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.