Share Your Thoughts

India Currents gave me a voice in days I was very lost. Having my articles selected for publishing was very validating – Shailaja Dixit, Executive Director, Narika, Fremont

Take me to the home of my childhood

in the street called “The Gardener’s Garden”

in my tongue, where the veranda overlooked a pond

of water hyacinth and carp, where my mother planted

a bougainvillea vine that painted the white concrete crimson.

Take me to the home where on sultry nights

we did our homework in candlelight, wiping sweat—

where the street dog’s barks and the rages of young men

out- of- work were drowned by my mother singing a raga.

Take me to the home in Delhi near the oil plant

 where my mother planted daikon and mustard greens and

sent baskets to every home. There were no girls to laugh with

but only the whistles of trains from the roof.

Take me to the flat just outside of town,

where in tiny pots dahlias still bloom—

where my mother hand feeds the crow,

where after a life of feeding a husband, children, and grandchildren,

my mother hears the mynahs chirp.

as she sips her tea alone.

Lopamudra Basu is a professor of English and Philosophy and Chair of the Literature Committee at the University of Wisconsin-Stout, Wisconsin's Polytechnic University.