My poem this week is on my grandparents, the significance of music in my family, plus the small colours of identity, culture and home. I call it Radio. Happy reading!
Radio
How do I get access to Hindi radio station here?
92.7
When baba forgets to put on a belt,
Leaves the car while it’s still accelerating —
Monochromatic tunes of the past
that remind him of amma,
And the way she cut guava in four slices, pink salt sweat on the rims of this cardboard fruit.
The dial is broken,
it’s silver came off years ago and now we keep placing it back;
Things in our house are semi-broken, always under the process of reparation,
Like our relationship with each other,
ceaselessly mending.
Mangeshkar hums —
Naam Goom Jayega
Chehra yeh badal jayega
Meri awaz hi pehchan hai
Gar yaad rahe..
Amma must have met her now,
tried to sing those tunes back to her and laughed about,
the complications of love that remain undefined.
If she were here today, she’d continue living in baba’s shadows, yet always blissful.
Now he listens to this song and remembers amma’s voice,
And I cannot find access to the Hindi radio station here,
The one that baba always plays.
Haan mujhe yaad hain wo sardiyon ke din. Jab Mummy amrood kaat ke khilati thi. Santare cheel ke papa ko pakadati rehti thi. Mujhe yaad hai meri maa aur papa ka wo silent romance. I miss you Maa. Thanks Isha for make me remember those moments of Maa and Papa togetherness.
Deeply relatable, very nostalgic 🫶🏼