A Letter to One Returning Home by Aditya Saha

A Letter to One Returning Home

Aditya Saha

Plant your steps softly dear for the fallen leaves may look familiar brown and homely old - but the street has a coat of tar new , a new pair of potholes few steps from the lamp post standing beside

Hush dear, don't fish out from your childhood days of playing truant, the name by which you used to call that street of your favourite sweet shop beside that stout alphonso tree with welcoming boughs and a shade of respite nor don't you pay your dues in here with your old notes 500 or 1000 (saved aside from what your relatives thrust into your hands during the puja) for they are good for naught but origami

ask that atm kiosk standing there by the turn of this street about how he had to cope up with the unending lines from dawn to dusk as the entire nation stood sweating with bowed knees and trembling upturned hands just as one stroke of twelve on clock on one cold November night turned pockets of country men to trash , as bunch of promises, men and national assets sell out for cheap

wear your sweater tight dear for the winds blow bitter cold and not just the thermometer but the gdp shows drops however the jawans are on guard in the glacier outpost of Siachen surely you could learn a thing or two of sacrifice and self reliance

from the brothers putting their lives in the crossfire of hostile neighbour

Step aside dear , you might get lost in the crowds rushing about for they are seeking their identity in midst of lists questioning their existence temples and statues rising up anew, cities changing names, paper notes acquiring new colors, bills diverting your attention

Put on your mask dear above your nose for many have lost their sense of smell either in literal or in figurative sense of words or like bio hazard many have been dumped stay back in favourite corner of your home (unlike the scores of migrant workers) with a note of thanks to the farmers who turn their sweats to keep your nutrition intact you can afford to live on your bank and stream the old Masakali on Spotify for you are not locked up without internet