Once, they were ours.21 boxessealed and numberednow a distant cargo of memoryadrift for monthsacross waters toward the Bay of Bengal. In a shipping container they layin the solitude of Kolkata portpaused between borders and mountainswhile a dark play unfolded across the world. A mystery unsolvedin the reign of Corona.We were not reunitedwith the pieces of our former home. In them drifted familiarity:the scent of blankets…