This Sunday afternoon
as I cleaned the bookshelf
a long overdue task
sorted books by genre
and piled them through three shelves
research, theory, social capital
bell hooks, Bhabha and Bourdieu
I found little bits of myself
a receipt from Mumbai
Amma's 70th birthday menu
Matuna Gymkhana
Pu La Deshpande cassettes
and Vaaryavarchi Varaat
Pappa's laughter
echoed through two decades
amazed at how the gap of years, 27
blended through me
this storyteller
alone and
sorting
sorting
sorting
trying to make sense of
wrinkles and silver hair
where I look like one parent or another
in rooms miles away,
my children
oblivious to the tsunamis in my ventricles
nap
finish homework
march towards their destiny
So can I too, say my parents visited me today?
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