The Fall

I write because…well, well, now do I really ! When was the last time I wrote ! Ages it seems now.
I thought I had nothing left in me to say. I felt as if all the words have drained out of me, and that I will never write again.
But this room ! This writing desk next to this huge window! It seemed this house was meant for me. So when Areej wanted to take the other house on rent, the one closer to City Center, I insisted on this one. This house is a little away, somewhere right in the middle of Manchester Airport and Piccadilly, if you would. The place is so calm and quiet. The window from my room overlooks this serene backyard with six giant trees – two maple, one that I presume to be fig, and rest I don’t know; and lots and lots of bushes.
When I first came here three months back, the place was all green. So much green, like I had never seen before. And the sky, oh the Sky ! Stark blue. We don’t get such clear sky in India. Not so much green either. Although it should have been, in Bengal at least. But now everything is so grey, so dusty back there.
I had seen leafy trees and leafless trees, but had never seen trees shading their leaves. Like a nostalgic gradual process, the passing of time becomes so palpable, you can feel it. Behind the trees there are the radiant English cottages standing in perfect harmony, at ease. Mine is an apartment, but of that same romantic terracotta red colour, with chimney and fire places and…you know. What else could I have done, sitting here, all alone, but write.
Yet, it didn’t come easy. Words were with me when I had no one, nothing. In that solitary studio in Qatar, confined, I had turned to them. I made Sandcastle my best friend. Came good times, and how conveniently I had forgotten all about it.
The last few months had been busy. Moving out from Doha, the transit stay in Calcutta, and then settling down here, afresh. I missed writing when I was partying, or baking. Words came pouring in when after a long search I found black cumin seeds, a most essential spice in Indian cooking. But I hesitated. It’s always difficult to start anything for the second time. And for an expat, it’s difficult every time.
It’s 2 in the afternoon. Most of my neighborhood houses are empty now. In Manchester, more people go to University than office. I go nowhere. I wish I could, but I don’t. So, for now, squirrels and birds are my only company.
I looked at my blog, and it seemed to smirk at me. “Good time’s gone huh ! You think you get to start from where you left ?”, it said.

So, it’s taking me a while to break the ice, and start writing again.

(This post is written as the first assignment of blogging U writing 101 challenge.)


16 thoughts on “The Fall

  1. Good to see you back, Arundhati, and with such a nice way with words – you haven’t lost the touch! I hope you manage to get out a bit, though. A writer’s life can be lonely…


  2. That’s what I was going to say. What all of them said. ๐Ÿ™‚ I feel guilty if I don’t stick to my blogging schedule, even though I’m only doing it for myself, really. Do you feel that at all?

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