tucked away in alipore park road,
stands a testament of my past,
a childhood of warmth and jars of pickles -
meetha nimbu, lal mirchi, kairi, et all -
of Sanskrit chants and Ghalib’s poetry,
of taash parties and evening rummy.
a charming home, the epitome of family life,
full of the most memorable dwellers,
with uniquest eccentricities and anecdotes,
impossible to imagine yet believable to me.
with wide eyes, I grew up learning the names of plants,
the verses of the hanuman chalisa,
the Ramayan and Mahabharata stories,
no books were used, just my Nani’s voice
telling me story after story,
like of the great kamrak tree.
to say goodbye to this palace of memories,
was one of the hardest moments of life
yes, life goes on, theoretically,
but what of the hole in my heart,
where you had planted my fondest tree?
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