On India’s Konkan coast, in the village of Korlai, a sense of quaintness pervades the Portuguese heritage, the Creole, the faces, and the fort. The filmmaker had visited this place once, as did his friend, of whom nothing is ever spoken. Impossible to tell if it was the melancholy or something else that had made each of them long for a return. Years pass, an assignment brings back the filmmaker to Korlai. Memories revive, but what compels his wayward excursion this time is the elemental and the immemorial in which his solitude seeks refuge. In the time of yellow grass, with steps receding and prayers unanswered, a desire for oblivion forks the search for images of exile and belongingness. The concreteness of this experience is summoned by grainy 16mm images which, when exposed to the imaginary and recollected realm of an elegiac voice-over, becomes a meditation on remembering, loss, perception, time, and their intersections with the individual and history. In reading this letter to a dear departed, in seeking a new way of inhabiting the world, a vision of Korlai emerges that is both attentive and phantasmagoric, a series of possible angles and tributaries that the viewer and traveller might possibly take.