Temple in a City literary journal

Appa, I Can’t Find My Name the one you gave me, the one that bound me to you, the one that filled the air like a song, the one that filled your eyes with a shimmer and the one that filled my heart with joy—‘Kunjamma.’ I can’t find it in your favourite songs, in the jokes you love, in the films you enjoy. My name is lost in the hum of the airconditioning, the beeping of the machines, the droning of nebulisers. It isn’t there in the upturned medicinal bottles or your creaking air-bed. It isn’t anywhere in your drooping eyelids, laboured breaths, or bandaged hands. 'Kunjamma' is lost in the hushed tones of diagnoses, the swishing of the crisp white coats, in the pinging of changing numbers on screens. It’s forgotten in whispers of visitors, sharp ringtones of phones and muffled conversations.  And in one final desperate attempt to rescue my name, I take your hand in mine, pray to every known and unknown God, hoping, you will open your eyes, break into a smile and say 'Kunjamma’. But as the beeps cease, the lights flicker, and a deafening silence swallows the room, my name slips, slides into the abyss. I want to scream, hold you back, excavate my name. But even before anyone can tell me, I know, you have secured ‘Kunjamma’ to your heart and left behind a nameless ghost. --- Sudha Subramanian lives in Dubai. She was a columnist and her words have appeared in newspapers, anthologies and many lit mags. She is a tree hugger and an amateur birder. Connect with her on X @sudhasubraman or on Bluesky @sudhasubraman.bsky.social.  

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