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Memories of people, boatmen, food, songs, a river, encapsulates the agony of a migrant father, in this poem, by Dr. Roopali. An exclusive for Different Truths.
When you grow up hearing the boat swain singing as he plies his boat down the river singing his plaintive Polli-geeti a lone voice, a flowing river, and a lone moon and you hear of it from your father then your dreams are filled with longing and your sleep is filled with dreams of a river called Buri-Ganga. When you leave behind a piece of earth the glowing warmth of a familial hearth the cradle swings slowly, slowly singing a lullaby at your birth Then your father’s dreams are filled with longing and his sleep is full of dreams. of a river called Buri-Ganga. Did I dream or did I hear of boats carrying to doorsteps the sugar dripping sweet rasgullas? Of the Eeleesh whose scent sends your senses reeling and the tree climbing koi fish in earthen pots? In Venice dreams of Dhaka floated in lapping waters of the Mediterranean Sea touching the steps of noble men’s homes. In father’s unfulfilled dreams lies the delicate shuktoh mother refused to cook while I run my fingers through snowy rice and take a second helping. What memories made him weep as the Baul singer sang his song what dreams of longing and a sleep full of dreams kept him awake as he dreamt of Dhaka on the river Buri-Ganga?
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