Driving to your block, I slide in my father's cassette of old Hindi songs and I am humming in twilight to the legendary playback singer's baritone releasing those sounds in that language that makes me feel like I am home. In the back of my throat, I can taste my grandmother's translucent thin chappatis that as children we would hold up to the light, the dough so evenly rolled out by her hands that not one lump would show.
Pooja Nansi
On the whalesongs of Bollywood, sentiment, and the lyric familiar
"Listening to Mukesh"
Pooja Nansi
Driving to your block,
I slide in my father's cassette
of old Hindi songs and
I am humming in twilight
to the legendary
playback singer's baritone
releasing those sounds in that
language that makes me feel like I am
home. In the back of my throat,
I can taste my grandmother's
translucent thin chappatis
that as children we would
hold up
to the light,
the dough so evenly rolled out
by her hands that not
one lump would show.