Sometimes when I listen to the radio no, not one of those property ads probably a vintage songthat does the trick transports me into sepia tone memories of the same song playing as early as 5 in the morning and Amma singing along gayly while she shuffled between worship and making food And of the time when the radio box could also be used as a tea table Of the sparkle in Ammamma's eyes when she asks to tune into Radio Ceylonand the disappointment that follows when she gets to know that it doesn't exist anymore Of her stories of Binaca geet mala Of those windy nights when everybody would sit and sing out aloudOf the times with friends on the terrace Of those instances when the Radio box would get hit on the head to adjust the signal Of instances when someone requests your favorite song Of times when cricket was heardOf times when there was time to listen Of the days when unpredictability was joy When there was a scope for chanceRadio reminds me of home Radio reminds me of life
