Sneha,every night you ask why I love youand every night I fail to answer.
Tonight, on Bhasha Dibosh,I have an answer.
Even though you study English,even though we dream in this language,I find the smell of Bengal in you.As you walk down in PaharganjI find in your gaitthat dream of Harisabha Lane in Barrackpore,as your face gets lighted upwhen the neon lightshows up from nowhere like a mistake.In your face that field in Barrackpore,In your voice the cringing of cyclesin this car infested city,in your cry the cry of a hundred footballersin muddy fields longing for a pass,and in your saliva, Sneha,I taste the hilsa and shutki that I have left behind.
When I lie on top of your heavy breaths,you become the Gangaand I that little leaf that floats on her bellybut never drowns.
Sneha,I love you because,like me,you too adopted a motherin your tongue,like meyour adopted mother isEnglish.