The yellow-green auto faded in the afternoon haze. The city of Bengaluru had an afterglow one feels after a really good sex. The BBMP park was yet to open it gates to the evening walkers-joggers rush. Another half hour before they would start buzzing through its canopied tracks, their health fitness devices strapped on their arms. The pedestrian path around the park was covered with fallen red leaves, yellowing around the edges. The soft crunch they gave out as I walked along the path signalled a change in scenery (and season) that was in store. A tapering Autumn season was making way for the Spring/Summer collection. The afternoon sun dispersed itself through the gaps between the translucent leaves, reaching the 5th Block in Koramangala with a radiance that felt too unreal. Or rather, almost too real.

The towering trees were dotted with bright red flowers, and a few street vendors lazily scrolled their phones while waiting for customers. Someone decided it was a good time to eat pani puri. The vendor got busy in a flash, putting his afternoon entertainment on hold. The parked cars arranged neatly along the road side were soaked in sunlight, taking in the Vitamin D meant for their owners. Perhaps they took supplements, and needed no natural sunlight. A bylane from the main road whispered something to me, and drew my feet in its direction.

The long, empty stretch, lined with big, artfully done bungalows had to be one of the most serene roads I’d stumbled upon that day. The sign said 3rd Cross, 5th Block. A bright pink Bougainvillea shrub spilled from a house’s front yard, giving an appearance of a nosey aunt who simply can’t keep to herself. A few Swiggy riders zapped silently through the road on their EV bikes from time to time. The fading afternoon still had some juice left, some colours still to imbue the scene with. A few MBA students were eating boiled peanuts from the street vendor, while an old woman grazed on the roasted corn. Her eyes stared at nothing in particular as I brushed past her. The corn must be really good, for her entire concentration seemed to hinge on it. 

A few steps ahead, and a few turns later, a street strewn with the fallen pink cherry blossoms appeared in front of me. It seemed like a street from my childhood. Not that I’d ever come across this very street as a kid. Then why did I feel like I’d entered a memory of a place I’d already been in? This wasn’t Déjà vu or some absurd, illogical feeling I was feeling. It felt like a real place I’d been before. Before all the noise entered. Before everything became distorted. Before I lost my way. It was that place again, where I met myself all over again. It was right then, at that moment, that the cherry blossoms on the road weren’t strangers anymore.