Subterranean Homesick Blues

I might have the cash
To pay to a random person
To cook me my meals.

I might have the ways
To find a new one to do that
Each and every month.

But the taste in the food
Never comes close
To that of yours, My dearest Mum.

The credit in my account every month
Might be ten times now
Of what it was, when I was in school

But the work that I do for it
Doesn't comes close
To the effort I put in reading up the books

It doesn't even match
To the beauty Dad
Of asking you for the tiny monthly allowance.

You were away
On foreign shores
The distance was more, the call charges more.

Its just a rupee now, compared to six
The two and half hours gap, ceases to exist.
But I miss talking to you now, my dearest Sid

I know the work takes a toll on you
I know the commute is bothering too
Don’t worry baby, I understand and I'm not complaining too.

Inspite of hefty phone bills now
Compared to the tiny recharges and missed calls
Of those days back in school

I fondly remember the passing on
Of the phone from Dad, to Sid, to Mum
As a ritual, each and everyday.