Dr. INDRANIL BANERJEE, India's National Honour
September 2026
Echoes
Echoes
Since you asked me, doctor,
to leave the dark untouched before sleep,
I have been learning its language silently.
I put the phone on an aeroplane.
And slowly, the room forgets me.
A lane appears— old like a forgotten name,
night jasmine leaning over its edges,
white flowers loosening themselves onto the earth.
I pick them up.
Their fragrance is older than I am.
It carries me to the school trunk
my father once opened
to show me my grandfather’s diaries—
pages breathing the dust of another afternoon.
I walk miles until the lonely lane forgets its end.
But last night, you know, doctor,
I saw Babusona, Daku, and Tuntai playing.
On a big ground beside the lane;
I shouted with my childhood voice.
“Which side will I play?”
They turned.
Then Tuntai asked, “Who are you?”
Daku laughed. “We have never seen you before.’
Something inside me stumbled.
I ran.
Down the lane,
past the fallen jasmine,
towards the brown door
of our old rented flat—
Through the door
came the Sunday afternoon news of the radio.
From the kitchen came the sound of ma cooking.
I stood there, my hand raised,
ready to knock three times, as I always did.
Then I stopped.
Because, doctor—
what if papa opens the door
and asks me,
“Who are you?
We have never seen you before.”
Score: 86 out of 100.
A sincere, well-shaped memory poem whose closing fear of unrecognition by the father lands with real force, held back from the top tier only by uneven line-level finish.
Read the September 2026 National Honours