besan ki sondhi roti par, khatti chatni jaisi maa
besan ki sondhi roti par, khatti chatni jaisi maa
yaad aati hai chauka-baasan, chimta fukani jaisi maa
besan ki sondhi roti par, khatti chatni jaisi maa

baan ki khurri khaat ke upar, har aahat pe kaan dhare
baan ki khurri khaat ke upar, har aahat pe kaan dhare
baan ki khurri khaat ke upar, har aahat pe kaan dhare
aadhi soi aadhi jaagi, thaki dopahari jaisi maa
aadhi soi aadhi jaagi, thaki dopahari jaisi maa
besan ki sondhi roti par, khatti chatni jaisi maa

chidiyo ke chehkaar me gunje
kabhi mohammad kabhi ali
chidiyo ke chehkaar me gunje
kabhi mohammad kabhi ali
chidiyo ke chehkaar me gunje
kabhi mohammad kabhi ali
murge ki aawaz se khulti, ghar ki kundi jaisi maa
murge ki aawaz se khulti, ghar ki kundi jaisi maa
besan ki sondhi roti par, khatti chatni jaisi maa

biwi beti behan padosan, thodi thodi si sab me
biwi beti behan padosan, thodi thodi si sab me
biwi beti behan padosan, thodi thodi si sab me
din bhar ek rassi ke upar, chalti natni jaisi maa
din bhar ek rassi ke upar, chalti natni jaisi maa
besan ki sondhi roti par, khatti chatni jaisi maa

baant ke apna chehra matha
aankhen jaane kahan gayi
baant ke apna chehra matha
aankhen jaane kahan gayi
baant ke apna chehra maatha
aankhen jaane kahan gayi
fate purane ek aalbum me, chanchal ladki jaisi maa
fate purane ek aalbum me, chanchal ladki jaisi maa
yaad aati hai chauka-baasan, chimta fukani jaisi maa
besan ki sondhi roti par, khatti chatni jaisi maa

Upon the bread, a scent of gram flour,
My mother, like a tangy chutney's power,
Of kitchen chores, I'm now reminded,
Of tongs and bellows, left behind it.
Upon the bread, a scent of gram flour,
My mother, like a tangy chutney's power.

Upon a cot of woven cane,
At every sound, she strains her ear, again.
Half-asleep, half-awake, she lies,
Like a weary afternoon, beneath the skies.
Upon the bread, a scent of gram flour,
My mother, like a tangy chutney's power.

In birdsong's chorus, echoes rise,
Sometimes Mohammed, sometimes Ali,
In birdsong's chorus, echoes rise,
Sometimes Mohammed, sometimes Ali,
The rooster's call, the morning's key,
Unlocks the house, my mother, she.
Upon the bread, a scent of gram flour,
My mother, like a tangy chutney's power.

Wife, daughter, sister, neighbor's grace,
A little of each in her embrace.
Across a tightrope, day by day,
My mother walks, come what may.
Upon the bread, a scent of gram flour,
My mother, like a tangy chutney's power.

Her face, her forehead, shared with all,
Her eyes, I wonder, where they fall?
Within a tattered album's hold,
My mother, a young girl, bold.
Of kitchen chores, I'm now reminded,
Of tongs and bellows, left behind it.
Upon the bread, a scent of gram flour,
My mother, like a tangy chutney's power.