It is the familiarity
of the sounds and smell of food
the crackling of the oil,
the grinding of the masalas.

It is the togetherness on Sundays
eating lunch while lounging around.

It is the yellowing mosaic floor,
the creaking wooden door.

It is the sordid chair
with a pile of clothes.

It is the neglected plant,
It is the evening chant.

It is the warm water for bath
and the lather on your soap.

It is the box of medicines
to keep illnesses at bay.

It is the fading photo albums
stashed away for another day.

It is the WiFi password
that sounds absurd.

It is the comfort of old pyjamas
and torn socks.

It’s the wall clock
that’s set too fast.

It’s the thirty-year old radio
that doles out songs – present and past.

It is the fragrance of naphthalene balls
in the corners of cupboards
and folds of your clothes.

It is the aroma of coffee
and the sunshine in your mug.

It is the stray cat’s meow
and the neighbouring dog’s bark.

It is the familiarity
of your way in the dark.

The familiarity
of Home.



All posts and photographs are © Bantering Bangalorean. Plagiarism is a serious, punishable offence.

3 thoughts on “Familiarity

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