Native Dialect

by Bhaswati Ghosh

Because she couldn’t bring
with her the waters of Sugandha,
the river in her village,
my grandmother brought along
utterances that smelled of
its moist earth. Togo, aamago,
eda, oda, komu, khaamu,
the tongue's catalogue of
frank intimacy. The city
ordained her to adopt its
lexicon—polished words,
their sandpaper finish a
burden of survival, like living
on dry land.

When her little sister visited
and Grandma broke into their
Barisailya patois, I heard songs
of home in the words. 
Of boat races and river markets. 
Of a nest I'd dreamt of in past 
lives, amid simulated nostalgia.

I watch YouTube videos
by young Barisal natives
to open my ears to rivers
of spoken waves. Togo, mogo,
kyada, zaamu, chaaul, aaij, kaayil.
The voices are young, fresh. 
I strain to hear my grandmother in them.

Bhaswati Ghosh writes and translates fiction, non-fiction and poetry. Her first book of fiction is Victory Colony, 1950, published by Yoda Press. Her first work of translation from Bengali into English, My Days with Ramkinkar Baij won her the Charles Wallace (India) Trust Fellowship for translation. Bhaswati’s writing has appeared in several literary journals, including Scroll, The Wire, Cargo Literary, Cafe Dissensus Everyday, Pithead Chapel, Warscapes, and The Maynard. Bhaswati lives in Ontario, Canada and is currently working on a nonfiction book on New Delhi, India. Visit her at bhaswatighosh.com