The rains have finally loosened their grip, leaving the air washed clean, the sky a sharper blue. On my evening walks, I notice the gulmohar trees shedding their last blossoms, carpeting the ground in fiery red. The breeze carries a coolness that feels like a secret gift after months of heavy clouds.

Autumn, for me, is the smell of my mother’s kitchen before the festivals—cardamom sweets cooling on steel trays, laughter echoing as neighbors drop by with their own offerings; it is kites tugging at strings under a wide sky, and diyas flickering along the balcony until the night itself seems to glow.