Those evenings musical

Every evening, when the house would become agog with activities,
after the lull of the afternoon,
when uncles and father would return home,
Grandpa would switch on his turntable
And put LPs upon it,

Usually it would be a Bismillah Khan
Or Bade Ghulam Ali,
From his room the music would emanate
Till it got spread through the corridor,
Reaching the rooms , the hall, the yard
Till it reached the portico and even beyond,

We had then also returned home
From our daily ritual of games and matches,

Mother and aunt would blow the counch shells
And put incense sticks at the tulshi mancha,

Grandpa would recline on his favourite armchair
And take puffs from his hookah,
His eyes would remain closed,
He would then be dipping into music,

And the house too would turn musical,
Aunt would be humming a tune while chopping vegetables at the kitchen,
Uncle would be reciting a poem to us
From our textbooks, teaching us the nuances of poetic diction,
And we would sometimes break out singing in chorus,
Our rhymes and verses,

At the backdrop, the LPs would turn on the table,
Spinning and churning music,
As the evening would become night, slowly
Almost imperceptibly, musically binding
All and sundry.

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