the plastic is chipped near the tuning dial
and the antenna is fastened with thread,
the auctioneer offered a casual smile
and said twenty rupees for the dead.
i spent three years learning frequency bands,
fourier transforms and modulation rate,
i could solder a circuit with steady hands
and calculate dampening curves on a slate.
and yet, when the speaker would crackle and hum
in the dusk of the veranda floor,
no formula explained where the ghosts had come from
or why dadi would stare at the door.
the vacuum tube warmed with an amber glow,
translating the static to tune,
singing ghazals of lovers from long ago
underneath an indifferent moon.
a room full of engineers measuring sound
in decibels, hertz, and wave-peaks,
while an old wooden box that we bought on the ground
was the only one knowing what speaks.