the gran'ol Murphy...

The grand old Murphy transistor radio...
Which my grand dad left to my care, before his demise...
With a smile on his freckled thin lips...
Still stays beside my bed...
I clean it everyday...
It stays mum, however...
As its round knobs had for long resigned to indolence permanent!
Its speakers don't hum...
It stays silent...like an old photo-frame with an old picture,sepia...
But it has stories of its own...

On lazy wintry afternoons...
It had the habit of presenting to our ears...the 'Musical bandbox'
And as those tunes and music alien lashed onto my shore of heart...
I surely felt so happy within!
I surely loved those songs of Clapton, Carpenters, ABBA...
I loved my grandad's Murphy to take me to the days of mystery stories...'Shonibarer barbela'...
The programme had a prelude...an opening tune...taken from Kraftwerck's 'Man-machine' album I guess...
I had goosebumps for sure...my eyes popped up...
As the voice on the radio took me to some eerie haunted house...
Then my mom would call me to lunch...
And I would carry the radio straight to the dining...
Listening all the way...biting my tiny nails,as if I was very much part of the story of the radio-play!

My granddad's Murphy...
It took me to different places...
It was a world for me...
For all of us...

So...
It still stays...
By my bed...
Telling me silent stories...
Seeped with nostalgia...