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The Tender Wound of Memory

Before the father’s return,
the house alters its very respiration.
Evening lingers at the threshold,
and the faint suggestion of arrival
circulates within the interior.

With our small, anticipatory hands,
we would descend into the father’s bag—
still in transit, not yet present.
The fibrous scent of bananas,
the granular sweetness of Allahabadi guavas,
the translucent geometries of petha—
all shimmered in the speculative space of desire.

The father arrived wearing a smile—
muted, almost ashen,
like an obligation quietly endured.
We invariably lunged first toward the bag
and he, invariably, forgave us.
At times, something emerged—
and the courtyard expanded into plenitude;
at others, the bag opened into absence,
and even the steps seemed to falter.
The mother dissolved her tears into the lentils;
the steam of bread spoke less than usual.
The father remained seated for long intervals.
brushing away the dust
from the faint line of fortune upon his palm.

When evening fractured across our backs,
the bag passed into our own hands.
The market called out—
khurchan, water chestnuts, jalebi—
as though memory itself
were still arranged upon those carts.
On the days when the pocket had emptied,
the act of returning home grew indistinct;
the door opened like an ascetic renunciation.
Children smiled, retreating into their books.
even as something within quietly cracked.

When children begin to discern
the tonalities of the father’s inner weather,
he diminishes within their gaze—
and, in the same instant, enlarges.
For love persists,
even in the grammar of empty hands.
We endured—
through some bags,
through some hands,
through some incomplete anticipations.

In every household,
there arrives an evening
when a child understands the father’s pocket
before the father himself arrives.
Some bags we fill.
Some children, in turn, fill us.

Even now, upon the threshold,
a fragment of childhood remains seated—
carrying the father’s smile
from departing hands
to those that are yet to arrive.

Picture design by Anumita Roy

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