Season

I couldn't figure it out that morning, when a dark grey bird lay flat upon the ground beside the newspapers. The pigeon didn't seem hurt and it was hard to believe it was dead. I procrastinated and later almost forgot about it. When I opened the door again to leave for work, it was no longer there. The odds of the cleaner quietly cleaning it away are low, so I'm assuming the bird found an interesting place for a nap that night. The image has stayed in my head, simply because there is that little bit of doubt. It's doubt's very nature to disfigure.

The long shadows of Autumn are here and so is the breeze. Everything has much colour. The Expressway is lined with more police patrol than cyclists doing time trials currently. Important roads are blocked. Delhi, already choking with vehicles has agreed to free up a lane for Commonwealth Games traffic. As a result most offices have allowed employees to work from home during this period. For a moment I wished autumn wouldn't leave. But it's never about autumn, but the monsoons and winter that sandwich it, and summer whose memory hasn't faded away.