This post’s late because all day yesterday
I travelled between my homeland and home -
curried cubed fish and three small golap jaam
were served for lunch in a neat airline tray;
though deboned fish isn’t the Bengali way
it was still festive, throwback to the drums
still being played at the marquees. I heard them
at 30,000 ft somewhere near Bombay.
All day yesterday I travelled between
being a mother and a daughter, a parent
to parents and child. On my in-flight screen
old Hindi films spooled out dramatic events,
a three-hour ten-minute stopover meantthinking what 'mother' has now come to mean.