Ma Aamar Bangali

I feel your presence as I start to drive,
Muttering your prayer fervently.
And now that I am fifty-five,
I too whisper unselfconsciously.
‘Dugga Dugga, please keep us alive,’
Because Ma, Ma Aamar Bangali.

Chiffon and pearls, and Chanel Five,
Your pashmina draped so casually,
You were his perfect military wife,
Duties performed elegantly.
But at home, only crisp cottons you wore,
Because Ma, Ma Aamar Bangali.

He got the credit for my words and verse,
‘You’re like me,’ he said gleefully.
But before the Blyton’s and the Bronte’s read,
There were tales from Thakurmar Jhuli.
Stories you read out every night,
Because Ma, Ma Aamar Bangali.

Organised banquets for hundreds and more,
Threw parties, intimate or formally,
The finest of chefs with cuisines galore,
But what you really loved, secretly…
Was your deemer dalna and maacher jhol,
Because Ma, Ma Aamar Bangali.

Today, sometimes your shaankha I wear,
And finger the gold reverentially.
Your kantha silks, in my wardrobe hang,
They adorn me too, beautifully.
And from a global girl, I slowly evolve,
Because Ma, Ma Aami O Bangali!