In August 2024, Bangladeshi youth succeeded in overthrowing their oppressive government, and celebratory videos flooded my social media newsfeed. I was taken aback by the joy I felt on behalf of the Bangladeshi people, a sentiment I could not exactly claim as an outsider. I knew I was subconsciously drawing from a repository handed down by my ancestors—the stories of struggle, sacrifice and the burning desire for independence that one generally grows up with in India. I was surprised to discover how potently these secondhand emotions infiltrated my present. 

 

One video on Instagram in particular hit hard. The song Bengali Dhana Dhanne Pushpe Bhara provided an emotionally charged soundtrack for hordes of people claiming the momentous event. I had until that moment, forgotten the song. It came back to me with a force, along with other songs I remembered from my childhood—all of which I had subconsciously buried somewhere deep inside. 

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In this work, I hum along to a song I used to sing with my late grandfather. I do not remember the lyrics clearly, nor do I know how to write in Bengali. Through the broken script and hummed melody, I hand over the song to the viewer, to be remembered the way I remember it.