Squinting my eyes, I woke up to the morning sunshine,
Donned in the iron uniform beside the door,
Mama hurriedly screamed, “Don't miss the bus, you have to reach school on time!”
Pink Bougainville, red gulmohars, Indian elms,
Walking amidst the flower laden path, all trees dazzling like gems.
Mithu! Rithu! - two white cranes pecking their food on the cow's back,
Here's me chasing that tiny squirrel with my heavy backpack.
“Srinu!, that ground is quite spacious “,
Oh how we went cycling, it was indeed adventurous.
I have to leave, tears filled my hazel eyes,
But it doesn't mean that I want to cut off these deep rooted ties.
Packed suitcases lined up, among the clouds I flew,
When would I come back? I never knew.
I grew taller, childhood memories became fainter.
Somewhere deep within, my desire to find ‘home’ was even stronger.
Nine years later when I travel back to find that warmth and peace,
All I witness is humungous buildings, cement and grease.
Where's Srinu? Where's Rithu and Mithu?
Metro rails, iron nails,
Where's my home? Where are those lost tales?
By Ambika Banerjee
