Come September

Ah, September—the month when the earth takes a deep breath and sighs, like Aunt Selvi after her afternoon nap. “Look at the trees,” she says, adjusting her glasses, “they’ve decided to go bald for the season, and here we are fussing over a few extra strands of hair in the comb.” At 80, Aunt Selvi’s sharp wit sees things others don’t, and September, to her, is just another reminder that nature has its own stubborn ways.

“September is like that cousin who shows up unannounced,” she muses, sipping her chai. “You don’t quite know what to expect—one moment it’s all sunshine, and the next, you’re scrambling to find a shawl. Life, my dears, is exactly like this month. It plays tricks on you, and you have two choices: laugh or complain. I choose to laugh, though my knees sometimes beg to differ.”

In Aunt Selvi’s world, September isn’t just a season of falling leaves but of falling illusions. “You young ones,” she wags a finger at her nieces, Doris and Dahlia, “you think you’re invincible. Running around in circles, gathering more things than you need, like squirrels on a shopping spree. But September, ah, it has other plans. It slows you down, gives you time to think. You start questioning why you bought that extra pair of shoes when you’ve got two perfectly good feet that don’t even want to walk sometimes.”

She chuckles to herself, “And don’t even get me started on that equinox business! Half-day, half-night, who’s keeping score? Nature is just showing off, balancing itself while we’re still trying to figure out how to balance a checkbook.”

As the conversation turns to the harvest, Aunt Selvi’s eyes twinkle. “This month is all about reaping what you’ve sown. Now, some of you may be thinking, ‘What if I’ve sown a whole lot of nonsense?’ Well, too late to worry about that, isn’t it? The crops are here. Take your basket and make the best of what you’ve got—even if it’s a bit of a mixed bag. Just like the time I tried to make dosas without rice batter and ended up with… well, let’s just say it was something else. You make do.”

Her laughter fades into a moment of reflection. “September forces you to think, whether you want to or not. The cooler days, the longer nights—it’s like nature is giving you a not-so-subtle hint to sit down, shut up, and listen. Not that I ever did much of that in my day,” she winks, “but now, I think it’s time.”

“And what about you two?” she asks her nieces. “Are you where you want to be in life?” Doris, ever the overthinker, looks puzzled, while Dahlia, more of the free spirit, shrugs. “Well, don’t worry,” Aunt Selvi pats them on the arm, “nobody’s really where they want to be. That’s the fun of it. Every September, you’ll realize something new, and every year you’ll think, ‘Ah, I’ve got it figured out now.’ And then life will remind you—you don’t. But that’s why we keep going, with a cup of chai in hand, because who can resist a good story or two?”

As for the cosmic events, Aunt Selvi has her own take. “That autumnal equinox—such a show-off! Balancing the day and night perfectly, like some overachieving student at the front of the class. But the rest of us? We’re just here trying not to trip over our own feet. Balance, shmalance. The real trick is to stay upright while juggling everything life throws at you. And if you happen to drop a few things, well, bend down, pick them up, and move on.”

Virgos and Libras get a special mention too. “Ah, the perfectionists and the peacekeepers,” she says. “Virgos will try to organize their lives like a spice rack, while Libras are busy making sure everyone’s happy. Let me tell you something—no spice rack stays organized for long, and no one stays happy forever. But that’s the beauty of it. You try, you fail, and then you laugh. Or, in my case, you nap.”

In the end, Aunt Selvi offers her own version of guided meditation. “Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and imagine yourself in a forest. Not too deep, though—I’m not coming in to rescue you. Now, think of all the things you’re holding onto. Not just the to-do lists and the phone chargers, but all the little grudges and the guilt. Now let them go, one leaf at a time. And if they come back, well, don’t worry. Nature always finds a way to make a mess again.”

As the meditation ends, she opens her eyes and grins, “Life is like September—it’s unpredictable, it’s beautiful, and if you’re not paying attention, it’ll pass you by. So, take a deep breath, enjoy the ride, and for heaven’s sake, have a good laugh while you’re at it.”

With that, Aunt Selvi leans back in her chair, content in the wisdom of her years. September may be a trickster, but she’s been around long enough to know that every season has its charm—even the ones that keep you guessing.