The sound of her talking to the gardener wakes me up in the morning
the sound of her watering the plants
she’s the keeper of the plants even takes care of the ugly ones
and that’s how I know that she’ll take care of me.
She’s like a radio playing the same old Bengali songs on repeat
that my dadu used to play on that old stereo
the one that only played cassettes
and that’s how I know that she misses him.
She’s an alarm that goes off every Thursday evening
asking whether I’m coming home that weekend
tries to tempt me with aloo posto and chicken biryani
and that’s how I know that she needs me.
The aloo posto, the half smile while she hums that one song, the flowers she wants me to photograph, they say it all.
This is just something I wrote about my dida (grandmother)
Dadu means grandfather
Aloo Posto and chicken biryani are names of some of my favourite dishes.