A Song Sung Between Red Lights

By Akshara Akamma

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A song the city hums to itself when the lights refuse to turn green

Intro Music

I was once called charming!

Then resilient,

Then “world-class”.

Funny how every compliment came with a bruise.

Verse 1

I used to be a lover;

soft mornings, filter coffee promises,

trees that knew your footsteps before you did.

You told me I was perfect ‘as I was’,

then asked me to change everything.

I smiled. Cities learn early how to be agreeable.

Now I wake with a sore back of flyovers,

lungs full of dust dressed up as development.

You still say I’m beautiful,

usually while complaining about traffic.

Chorus

Everyone came to build a life,

no one came to stay.

I raised your dreams carefully,

you outgrew me on the way.

Call me home, call me hustle,

Call me when you’re late.

I’m an aging parent,

you keep calling a phase.

Verse 2

My children arrived from everywhere;

towns that taught them patience,

families that taught them guilt.

They came armed with degrees,

LinkedIn optimism,

and the quiet fear of being average.

They burn out by twenty-five,

and call it ambition, sometimes startup,

They speak five languages

but can’t say “I’m tired”,

without laughing. 

They tell me,

“I don’t belong anywhere.”

I nod.

Neither do I anymore.

Verse 3

I gave them coffee strong enough

to replace sleep.

I gave them offices named after feelings;

Innovation, Synergy, Hope.

I watched them measure time in deadlines;

and life in app notifications.

“Macha, just one drink on Church Street”

four hours, three careers ago.

Pub music louder than my conscience,

₹600 cocktails, free regret of:

“Just one more year here.”

“Traffic is killing me.”

“I love this city but—”

Ah yes.

The sacred “but”.

Chorus

Everyone wants me young forever,

but older every day.

They repaint my sadness

and call it urban decay.

Love me loudly on weekends,

forget me by Monday eight,

I’m the gaslit lover,

you swear you’ll never hate.

Verse 4

I saw lakes disappear

without a proper goodbye.

I saw trees become memories

stored in childhood drives.

I held protests, heartbreaks,

dreams, whispered at bus stops.

I became very good,

at not interrupting.

Whispering. Witnessing. 

Silence, after all.

Verse 5

I’m proud of you, truly.

You survived me.

But survival is a strange compliment.

You mistook endurance for love,

speed for direction,

and exhaustion for success.

I wanted to tell you earlier,

growth hurts when it’s lonely.

Progress isn’t supposed to feel,

like running out of breath.

Final Chorus

Everyone came looking for futures,

no one asked how I felt.

I’m still holding space for you,

even when you leave.

I don’t need you forever,

just your present.

I’m not asking to be perfect.

I’m asking for a break.

Outro Music

I am Bangalore.

I watched you.

I stayed quiet.

This is me,

finally singing back.