Two Memories of the City
- Oct 30, 2025
- 2 min read
by Debmalya Bandyopadhyay
A braking car broke into my bike — a BMW, the colour of a disheartened sky; rows of vehicles honking to get past me like a classroom of impatient children. A jaw within me snapped shut. I toppled and the asphalt concrete rushed in to hold my bowing ribcage. The thud sent a door flying open and light fled as fast as it could. When it returned, the edges of my body had rusted. Dipped in brine. But nothing was as searing as standing up, exposed as an outsider who had made this city less drivable than the last decade. Them. My face wore shame like a lampshade, as I dragged my bike away. But one time, in that city of nightbirds, Pedro and I slipped out through his bedroom window to light a joint, standing on his neighbour’s gable roof. Only the February wind screamed at us, condensing laughter within our mouths. It was the Adam’s apple of the night: all we heard was an ad jingle, floating from open window to open window. The distant fox. Snowflakes ashed themselves upon my tweed. Something felt conquered without words. We watched the streetlight blink its voltage Morse, a language tying our alien narratives. Later that night, Pedro put his arm around my shoulders, said Before you arrived, it was so fucking lonely.
Debmalya Bandyopadhyay (he/him) is a writer and mathematician based in Birmingham, UK. He is in the 2025 cohort of the Brooklyn Poets Mentorship Program. He is the runner-up of the UK National Poetry Coaches Slam 2025, was a finalist for the Tupelo Quarterly Poetry Prize, Grouse Grind Lit Prize, Osmosis Poetry Prize, Sweet Literary’s Poetry Prize, Sophon Lit’s Poetry Contest, and the Briefly Write Poetry Prize. His poems, translations, and essays have appeared or are forthcoming in Blackbird, Wildness, HAD, Chestnut Review, The Bombay Literary Magazine, Southern Humanities Review, and elsewhere. He is often in parks confabulating with local birds.
