“Where do your words come from?”, she asked, as we
Discussed the evolution and devolution of language.
“Where do your words come from?”, she asked, as I
Opened the dictionary at the local library.
“My words come from the soft nuances of
Childhood”, I told her, “From the sizzle of the
Pan as my mother cooked breakfast, from the
Loud footsteps of my father, as he stumbled down the
Stairs. From the way my grandmother told me about
Her childhood friends who now hesitate to
Communicate with her.”
“My words come from my travels through
Time and space”, I told her, “From the coloured houses of
Uruguay to the crowded roads of Bombay. From the
Harsh symphonies of traffic to the eerie silence on
Empty train rides on window seats.”
And as I went home, that day, I could feel the
Snap-crushes of spices that reverberated through my house.
I could feel the crowds as I tried to navigate through
Abandoned buildings and new coffee-shops. And for the
First time, I could trace my words back to a map of