Mother Tongue
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My mother tongue is a river I was born into—
before I knew that rivers had a name,
I was already swimming in its grammar,
already shaped by its syllabic flame.
Hindi: the language of my first lullabies,
the tongue in which the story first was told,
the sound of the grandmother's evening telling,
the word for love before love was enrolled.
Every language is a universe.
The one you're born into is your native sky—
even if you learn a dozen others,
the first one is the one you dream inside.
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My mother tongue is a river I was born into—
before I knew that rivers had a name,
I was already swimming in its grammar,
already shaped by its syllabic flame.
Hindi: the language of my first lullabies,
the tongue in which the story first was told,
the sound of the grandmother's evening telling,
the word for love before love was enrolled.
Every language is a universe.
The one you're born into is your native sky—
even if you learn a dozen others,
the first one is the one you dream inside.
