The year has seasons, life runs in cycles, mine was fortunately long and relatively smooth. I have always looked forward to life with zest and passion, I still look forward; more than the past it is the Future that beckons me, making me to wonder if it were not too early for starting with an autobiography! In think my story neatly divides itself into four cycles, so I name it after the Four Seasons. The first unreeled in my native princely state of Travancore which later became Kerala, and which is told in the present volume after a narrative fashion of looking back; the distance of time renders upon it some sense of nostalgia. It is reconstructed party on my memory, partly on dairies, I make no claim for being absolutely accurate or systematic it is just going down the memory lane, more a rambling recollection than a testamental autobiography. The second season played out in our country’s Capital, New Delhi, which emerges to my mind as the summer crest of my life, and upon which I am working presently; and the third now stretching over a decade unfolded in the Northeastern shillong, which is too fresh in mind to be written down, and upon which I would come to reflect and write about as I hope presently. And I fancy there could even be a Fourth Season, which I associate once again with our country’s great capital. It is a profound intuition. For there is still much to cover, much to gain, and much to give completing these four cycles in the integrality of the one full Cycle as I see it through the inner eye of mine. What is narrated in this first volume is the spring of bursting out enthusiasm and urge for action, I would have loved to re-live this season; with distance comes nostalgia, it is Down the Memory Lance, it is a Reverie, it flows just as the reel unwinds itself on the memory screen, with hardly anything recorded in dairies on any other mode during the first half of the narrative period here. It is just the natural flow, just what I am.
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