Sojourn by Amit Chaudhuri. © Seemita Das

What would I do if I knew what I saw was to be changed? Like turning a page in a book to a new story? Would I, then, believe what I ‘saw’? Hold onto the remnants like a testimonial to some unknown audit in future?

A Professor. His sojourn in Berlin. Chance meeting with an Exiled Poet. And a post-doctoral student. Many walks down long streets. Chilly with flushed cheeks. Nostalgic discoveries. Comforting incomprehension. Paused by quotidian hyphens. Experimenting with no practice. Connect and disconnect. Like a new language. Engage and disengage. All too good. Still alien.

Sitting in the gaps between arrival to and departure from a new city, Sojourn quivers under the breeze of happenstances afforded by the blissful transience of it all. It gently prodded me to walk on paths not well-lit but fluctuating with promise. A trance-like walk in the fog of a new city. It teemed with a music that is loud in its mute notes. Sometimes, more often than less, such music is all I need.

‘We have an appetite for home, as flies do for food. We find it unerringly.’

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